


A Practical Guide to Wooing

by certaintendencies



Series: The Wooing Verse [1]
Category: Glee RPF, StarKid Productions RPF
Genre: M/M, Toilet humor, unsafe sexual practices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:42:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/certaintendencies/pseuds/certaintendencies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story in which no one is terribly keen on housework, Darren and his nemesis Prince Charming are the ultimate cockblocks, and some things are worth waiting for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Practical Guide to Wooing

 

Chris shifts from foot to foot on Darren’s doorstep. He’s cradling a case of diet coke and the newest version of the current script against this chest with one hand while absently checking his twitter feed on his phone with the other, waiting for someone to answer the door.

 

Finally, the door creaks open and Chris steps inside without looking up. “’Bout damn time you lazy assh- um. Hi.”

 

Joey smiles at him and pries the sodas from his grasp. “Hi.” He tilts his head towards the kitchen and Chris follows his lead, feeling the heat of a mid-level blush suffuse his face. He’s only met Joey a couple times and they’re not really at the ‘heavily insult each other as a sign of affection’ stage of knowing each other yet.

 

They _are_ apparently in the ‘stand around awkwardly in the kitchen waiting for their mutual friend to show up’ stage of knowing each other. Joey puts the soda in the mostly empty fridge and nudges the door shut with his hip.

 

“So uh,” Chris says, shoving his phone into his pocket and looking across the island at Joey. “Where’s Darren?”

 

“Upstairs,” Joey supplies, and before he can elaborate they hear a thump and a muffled yell from somewhere above them.

 

“What’s he doing?” Chris asks, squinting up as if he could peer through the ceiling.

 

“Well,” Joey says, rubbing a knuckle against the side of his nose. “You want the truth?”

 

“Maybe?” Chris replies, wary but intrigued.

 

Joey shrugs and inclines his head as he imparts his information. “I’m pretty sure he’s trying to pee a turd in half.”

 

Chris blinks. Several times. Joey flicks his head back, flipping his bangs out of his eyes.

 

Chris is saved from having to formulate a response by loud, triumphant singing from above them and the sound of feet stomping over to the staircase.

 

“Dude!” Darren’s voice floats down to them, garbled by what Chris soon learns is a massive bite of sandwich. He saunters through the archway into the kitchen. “I totally sunk your battleshit.” He sees Chris and nods. “Hey, man.”

 

“Hey.” Chris gives a weak little wave, trying desperately not to grin as wide as his face is trying to.

 

“You’re early,” Darren says, spraying sandwich crumbs over the surface of the island and then frowning at them.

 

“He’s on time,” Joey corrects, handing Darren a paper towel.

 

“Oh. Then I’m late.”

 

“We know,” Chris says, watching Darren push the crumbs around and become increasingly frustrated with the towel’s inability to absorb them.

 

Eventually Darren simply brushes them onto the floor and points at Joey, paper towel crumpled up in his fist. “Loser sweeps.” He turns to Chris, “I left the script in my car, I’ll be right back.” Shoving the rest of the sandwich in his mouth and wiping his hands off on each other, he nods purposefully, brushing past Chris on his way to the door.

 

“Is he always this much of a dick on his down time?” Chris asks lightly, eyes following Darren as he disappears around the corner.

 

“Heard tha’!” Darren calls cheerfully, words distorted by the food in his mouth.

 

“Only when he wins at Battleshits,” Joey answers Chris, ignoring Darren entirely. “Goes to his head.”

 

Chris nods in understanding. “I can imagine.”

 

Joey nods back and bounces on the balls of his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets.

 

“So,” Chris says, trying to rise above the swelling tide of awkwardness that threatens to engulf him. He fails, sniffing just to give himself something to do and then blurting out, “ _Battleshits_.”

 

Joey seems to think for a moment before responding placidly, “It started in college, as sort of a dorm tradition.”

 

“Ah.” Nodding in understanding, Chris clears his throat and rolls his script up in his hands, twisting until one side is smaller than the other.

 

“Darren’s like, stupidly good at it,” Joey continues, “I think he might have some sort of weird mutant pee.”

 

Without thinking about it, Chris holds the script up to his eye and peers through it as though it were a telescope, training it on Joey’s face. “Like a super strong stream of mutant pee, or like weird acidic mutant pee?” he asks, focusing on Joey’s left eye.

 

“Maybe both,” Joey says, tilting his head but keeping his eye in Chris’s view. One long finger pokes into the end of the telescope, and then retreats.

 

Chris lowers the script.

 

“Probably both.” Joey straightens his head up. “Either that or he cheats.”

 

Chris sets the script on the island. He tries to press it flat again, but it curls up and rocks, faintly, from side to side, mocking him. “I guess there’s not really a comfortable way to check for cheating,” he says, trying again to smooth the curling paper.

 

 “Not really, no,” Joey agrees. “Oh, uh, did you want one of the cokes you brought?” he steps to the side and waves a hand at the fridge.

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

“You want some ice, or-”

 

“No I like the cans, it’s kind of… I have a thing.” Chris shifts his weight on his feet and runs his fingers through his hair, twitching his shoulders in a half-aborted shrug. He can’t figure out where to put his hands.

 

“You’ve got a thing for cans,” Joey restates, smiling a little as he tugs the door open and breaks into the box, pulling one out.

 

“I do.” Chris takes the coke from Joey with a slightly awkward smile and picks at the tab with his nails.

 

“You do what?”

 

There’s a beat of silence after Darren walks back in during which Chris and Joey both take in the small white flower Darren has tucked behind his ear, as well as the conspicuous absence of his right sneaker. He’s reading the mail he must have retrieved, not looking at either of them.

 

“He has a thing for cans,” Joey says eventually.

 

“’Course he does.” Darren looks up and smiles, elbowing Chris. He’s disturbingly jocular. “That’s why he likes me so much.” He tosses the mail on the counter and looks back and forth between them. “What’s up?”

 

Chris and Joey exchange a look and Joey shrugs.

 

“Hey uh, Darren?” Chris says hesitantly.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“…Where’s the script?”

 

“Or, you know. Your shoe,” Joey tags on.

 

Darren scrunches his face up and tips his head back with a little shrug. “I gave the shoe to the dog.”

 

“The dog,” Chris repeats.

 

“We don’t have a dog,” Joey points out.

 

“Yes, I know. If we ever get a dog we’re not getting a mean, scary one like that. I gave it my shoe because I was afraid it was going to eat me. I think it smelled my sandwich or something. It was a ravenous, slathering beast.”

 

Chris scratches his neck and tilts his head down, trying to hide his disbelieving smile. Joey doesn’t bother to hide anything. “Really,” he says, flat and unimpressed.

 

Darren frowns, wobbling a little as he toes off his remaining footwear. “I tried to yell for help but it was no good.”

 

“You were dumb with fear,” Joey guesses.

 

“Well, at first I still had half a sandwich in my mouth, but then every time I made a sound it started barking at me. It had scary teeth. Big, eat things teeth.”

 

“Well did the dog eat the _script_?” Chris asks, brow furrowing. “Because if someone finds it and it leaks you’re in deep shit.”

 

“I never made it to the car. I was pinned by the mailbox. Hemmed in by Cujo.”

 

“Really,” Joey says, leaning forward and settling his elbows on the island. He laces his fingers together, leaving both index fingers out to point towards Darren’s feet. “So you just _gave_ it your shoe?”

 

“I tripped and panicked and left it behind when I was running away.” Darren has the grace to look sheepish. “I don’t care if I get it back, I severed all emotional ties with it as my life flashed before my eyes,” Darren assures them.

 

Joey nods as if this is a reasonable thing to say. It kind of is, for Darren, so Chris changes the subject. “I like your flower.”

 

Plucking the small white bud from his hair and twirling the stem between his fingers, Darren heaves a wistful sigh. “It’s from the pot just inside the front door.” He shrugs. “It was pretty and… I thought it might distract you guys from the lack of shoe.”

 

“Fail,” Joey declares immediately, straightening up and popping his neck. “I’ll be in the office if anyone needs me.” He raps his knuckles against the island and gives Chris a nod before making his way out of the kitchen.

 

“Don’t forget to sweep!” Darren calls after him, standing on his tip-toes as if that might carry the sound farther.

 

“Don’t forget to suck my dick!” Joey hollers back.

 

Darren turns to Chris and smiles. “It’s not even an office; it’s actually a closet with a keyboard in it; he just wanted to sound important. So. Looks like we’re sharing, script buddy.”

 

***

 

Chris sniffles, wiping his eyes and sighing.

 

“I like how you don’t care what you look like when you cry,” Darren says earnestly after a small period of silence.

 

“Stop complimenting my ugly faces,” Chris instructs, leaning back into the cushions.

 

“Okay.”

 

“That was a stupid scene. This whole episode is stupid. Why is there so much _crying_?” Chris huffs and arches his back, trying to get comfortable after who-knows how long hunched over the script.

 

Darren tosses the script onto the coffee table with a sigh.

 

“Can you imagine how awful it would be to actually spend so much of your high school career in tears?” Chris ponders, staring at the ceiling.

 

“I cried all the time in high school,” Darren informs him.

 

“Fuck you. I mean like actual, sad, my life is a hardship crying, not,” Chris shoves a hand into the air in front of himself and waves it around impotently, “seeing dew drops on a spider’s web and being moved to tears crying.”

 

“That was one time,and it was _beautiful_. Fuck you back.”

 

Chris is saved from coming up with a response by Joey, who wanders through the living room just as Darren finishes speaking.

 

“Polite to your guests, as ever, I see.” He smirks and heads towards the kitchen.

 

“Are you going to sweep?” Darren asks.

 

“I’m getting something to drink,” Joey tosses over his shoulder.

 

Darren huffs and raises his voice enough for Joey to hear it in the kitchen. “Well you can’t have any of _my_ drinks until you sweep. And everything in there is mine because I made the last beer run.”

 

“That’s a stupid rule,” Joey informs him loudly.

 

“You can have a coke if you want,” Chris calls, smiling at the look of betrayal on Darren’s face.

 

“No he can’t,” Darren insists. “No you can’t!” he yells at Joey. He looks back at Chris. “You can’t side with him, that’s against the basic rules of friendship.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Chris stands up with a groan. He puts his hands on his lower back and twists from side to side, trying to work out the kinks in his spine.

 

“You want me to pop your back?” Joey asks. Chris startles a little and turns to face him, one eyebrow raised in question. “I’m really good at it.”

 

“He is,” Darren agrees. “He does the whole spooning, bear hug thing.” He furrows his brow. “But I’m mad at him right now, and thus blind to any redeeming characteristics, so you probably shouldn’t let him touch you because he might have cooties.”

 

Joey shrugs, and Chris notices he’s holding a can of diet coke in each hand.

 

“Sure,” he says, taking a step closer to Joey and ignoring Darren’s disappointed scoff. “What do I do?”

 

Joey sets the cokes down on the back of the couch and moves in closer, tugging at one of Chris’s shoulders and pushing at the other, turning him around. Warm, big hands envelop his wrists and cross them over his chest as Joey draws him back until they’re flush together. “Deep breath,” Joey murmurs, his chest expanding in example. His arms come up around Chris, anchoring them snugly against one another.

 

Chris ignores the tingling warmth emanating from all the places Joey’s touching him and trains his eyes on Darren, who’s watching them with an unreadable expression on his face. He inhales.

 

“Now let it out,” Joey says, after Chris has been holding it for a few seconds..

 

Chris feels a blush creeping up his cheeks at the amusement in Joey’s voice as he breathes out, shoulders slumping slightly with the release.

 

Joey tightens his hold and leans back, and Chris’s feet come off the floor, his weight settling against Joey’s arched torso. With a quick jerk that punches the remaining air from his lungs, Chris’s spine stretches and expands, popping in several places.

 

He grunts in surprised relief, swaying on his feet when Joey sets him back down. “Whoa.” His back feels cold once Joey steps away.

 

“You okay?” Joey keeps a steadying hand on his elbow until he nods.

 

“Yeah, I’m… yeah.” Chris laughs and shakes his head, turning a bit so Darren and Joey are both in his line of sight. “That was kind of cool.”

 

“You’ve seriously never had a hug pop before?” Darren asks, incredulity coloring his tone.

 

“No.”

 

“Oh.” He shifts uncomfortably in his spot on the couch and frowns. “Well, they’re the best thing ever.”

 

“Yeah, I got that,” Chris laughs breathlessly, wiping his palms on his hips. Joey hands him a diet coke. “Thanks.”

 

“Thank _you_.” Joey taps their cans together lightly, a toast.

 

Darren continues to fidget, watching them both.

 

“Somethin’ you wanna say?” Joey asks, punctuating his question with the _snick-fizz_ of an opening can. Chris follows suit, taking a sip and watching them both over the top of his can.

 

There’s a stretch of silence wherein Darren has a remarkably visible internal battle, and then he’s lifting his chin and enunciating carefully. “My back hurts, too.”

 

Joey nods. “I bet. Hunching over that script for so long. Must be awful. I’d pop it for you,” he says, shrugging apologetically and gesturing widely with his arm, “but I’ve got all these chores to do and-”

 

“I’ll sweep!” Darren declares in an instant, off the couch and assuming the position in front of Joey before Chris can even shake his head in amusement. Taking the can from Joey before he tries to find a place to set it, Chris watches Darren bounce on his toes, only settling down when Joey’s arms wrap around him, exhaling before Joey needs to ask. He demands an extra wiggle once his feet are off the ground, which Joey provides with an eyeroll and a fond smile. It doesn’t seem to have much of a purpose besides wobbling Darren’s legs from side to side, but he certainly appears to enjoy it.

 

Then they both twitch and Joey drops Darren, a startled look on his face.

 

“Woo,” Darren says, not seeming to mind the short fall, his contained excitement punctuated with the tiniest of fist pumps. Digging a hand in his back pocket, he fishes out his phone. “It’s my lady love,” he says, glancing at the screen and waving a dismissive hand at both of them. “You two have fun; I have some very important business to take care of.”

 

“ _Phone sex_ ,” Joey mouths over Darren’s head, causing Chris to choke on his diet coke.

 

Darren takes no notice of either of them, clapping Chris on the shoulder as he answers the call. “Hey babe!” He squeezes Chris’s upper arm and then wanders away, intent on his phone conversation.

 

Chris sighs deeply, smiling, and turns to Joey. “I’m gonna get going.”

 

“’Kay. You want me to get the rest of your cokes?”

 

“No, I’ve got… plenty. At home. I have-”

 

“A thing, yeah,” Joey says, eyeing the small pyramid of empty cans on the coffee table with amusement.

 

Chris drains the rest of his can and sets it on the very top of the pyramid. They both admire it for a moment, before Joey breaks the silence. “I bet you’d be really good at battleshits.”

 

Chris finds himself giggling. _Giggling_. Like being an awkward (diet) coke addict isn’t enough, he has to be a giggling freak, too.

 

Joey cuffs him lightly on the shoulder. “Gimme a sec and I’ll walk you out.”

 

“Oh, you don’t have t-”

 

“One second!” Joey disappears into the kitchen. Chris hears the fridge and wonders if Joey went back for the cokes after all, but when Joey comes back he’s not holding Chris’s beverage of choice.

 

“That’s a hot dog,” Chris says after a moment.

 

“True.” Joey wiggles it obscenely. “I thought it might be helpful just in case there was actually a ferocious canine outside and it’s still awaiting us. Or even just,” he shrugs, “a regular dog we need to distract.”

 

Chris shrugs and nods, scooping up his crumpled script from the coffee table and rolling it up again. He holds it aloft and points it towards the entrance hall. “After you.”

 

They make it halfway down the front hall before Joey starts humming the Indiana Jones theme song.

 

“You should light your hotdog on fire like a torch,” Chris tells him.

  
“I don’t think it would stay lit. Your script, on the other hand…” He looks pointedly at Chris’s script and Chris quickly stuffs it in his back pocket.

 

They were walking normally at the entrance to the hallway, but by the time they hit the front door they’re both creeping along on their tiptoes, Chris peaking over Joey’s shoulder.

 

Joey grins and gestures to the door. “Should we turn the porch light on? Or will that attract the beast?”

 

“I don’t know. I’ve never been in this type of situation before,” Chris whispers. “Oh, hang on.” He pulls his phone out and quickly scrolls to his flashlight app, tapping it on. “Okay.” He nods, and Joey opens the door.

 

It swings open, the creak that Chris had barely noticed that afternoon somehow exponentially creepier in the dark. He shuffles closer to Joey, peering out into the night. He shivers.

 

It’s not cold.

 

“Did you just-” Joey starts to ask.

 

“No. Shut up.” He pushes at Joey’s shoulders.

 

Joey laughs and steps over the threshold, looking around. Chris sweeps his little beam of phone-light back and forth, seeing nothing but the suspiciously well-maintained landscaping. He takes a cautious step forward, only to be stopped by the back of Joey’s hand thumping against his chest.

 

“Did you hear that?”

 

Chris looks down at the hotdog inches from his face. “Um. No.”

 

“Listen.”

 

“Are you fucking with me?” Chris asks, squinting to see if Joey’s smiling or not.

 

Joey’s empty hand fumbles back and manages to find its way to Chris’s face, covering his mouth. “Shh!”

 

Chris crosses his eyes to try and look at it. It’s big. A big hand. A big hand that can wrap all the way around his wrist with length to spare and currently smells faintly of hotdogs. Joey continues to stare, wide-eyed, into the darkness.

 

Chris is in the middle of rolling his eyes exasperatedly when he hears something. “Mm!”

 

Joey lets his face go and grabs his wrist, aiming Chris’s light at the bushes. The bushes that move. Chris gasps and then squints. And then his voice makes a flying leap into squeaksville, the same leap it makes every time he’s confronted with any type of adorable creature. “Oh my _god_!” He yanks his wrist from Joey’s grasp and steals the hotdog from him, dropping to his knees.

 

“What are you _doing_?” Joey hisses.

 

Chris shakes the hotdog out and makes kissy noises, luring the mutt out from behind the bush.

 

“Don’t call it over here! It could have rabies!”

 

“It doesn’t have rabies,” Chris baby-talks, tearing off one end of the processed meatfood and tossing it halfway between them and the cautiously approaching stray. “It’s too _cute_ for rabies, aren’t you sweetie?”

 

The dog snuffles around the hotdog chunk briefly before snatching it up and sniffing for more.

 

It’s a medium-sized dog, maybe a foot tall at the shoulders, with short, stubby legs, mottled gray fur, and a wiggling nub of a tail.

 

“Come here, baby,” Chris coos, stretching his arm out as far as it will go, another piece of hotdog cradled in his palm.

 

The dog stares at him, silver eyes wary, the markings above them quirked like unimpressed eyebrows. Its enormous triangular ears cock curiously.

 

Joey sighs, and then shifts beside Chris, lowering slowly down on his haunches and grabbing onto Chris’s shoulder when he wobbles. “Here dog,” he says, voice light and sweet. He whistles softly and clicks his fingers. “C’mere, doggy. We’ve got food.”

 

Chris tosses the bite halfway between them and the dog again. “Gross, smelly food that you’ll lo-ove,” he sing-songs.

 

“I promise we won’t feed you shoes like that dumbass out here earlier,” Joey adds.

 

“Come here, sweetheart,” Chris says softly, holding out another piece and letting the dog sniff his hand for a few moments before it gobbles the food up and backs off couple steps. “Good dog. We’re not gonna hurt you.”

 

It takes a couple more bites, but eventually the dog unwinds enough for Chris to pet it. It eyes Joey guardedly, but allows his behind-the-ear scritches without protest, eventually relaxing completely under his skillful attentions.

 

They discover she’s a girl once she rolls over for a belly-rub, her little tail wiggling against the walkway.

 

“What are we gonna do with her?” Chris wonders, his fingers trailing through the long, wispy hair on her chest. She licks his wrist.

 

“I’ll put her in the back yard tonight,” Joey says, his fingers brushing Chris’s as he pats her stomach. “Make posters tomorrow. She’s pretty clean and she’s obviously well fed. She belongs to somebody. Don’t you, little girl?” he splays his hand out over her plump belly, rocking her from side to side, and she yips happily.

 

Chris tilts his head to look at her. “I can see why Darren was so anxious to flee her in terror.”

 

Her tongue lolls out.

 

“Wow, ok, I have to go or I’m gonna take her home with me.” Chris gives her one last pat and then pushes himself up, groaning along with his knees.

 

Joey goes with him to the end of the walkway, the dog following at their heels, and Chris turns around once he reaches the sidewalk. He bends down to give the dog a goodbye pet, and then straightens up, not-quite looking at Joey and wondering if he should go in for a half-hug or not. Darren’s friends are generally pretty tactile. He’s saved from his dilemma by Joey himself, who holds out both of his arms for Chris to step into.

 

Chris wraps his arms delicately around Joey’s neck, feeling Joey’s lock around his waist. “Goodnigh-oh!” Joey squeezes, tight and quick, popping Chris’s lower back in a couple different places and making him giggle breathlessly at the feeling.

 

Chris is grinning when he steps back, trying not to think about the way Joey’s hands slide over his ribs before falling away. “Goodnight.”

 

“’Night,” Joey echoes, swooping down to pick up the dog and wave with one of her paws.

 

Chris watches them in the rearview mirror as he drives away. They’re still standing in the glow of a streetlight when he turns the corner.

 

 

***

 

 **Text from Unknown:** Hey its Joey, stole your # from Ds phone. The dog is fine, D is hiding in his room, she HATES him, its so amazing

 

 **Text from Joey R:** [multimedia msg] every time he walks into the room shes in she starts barking and growling lol. Its even worse when he talks.

 

 **Text to Joey R:** Ha! She looks like a crazed bat creature… We’re sure she doesn’t have rabies?

 

 **Text from Joey R:** Too cute, like you said

 

 

 

[@chriscolfer](http://twitter.com/#!/chriscolfer): Dance rehearsal, [@DarrenCriss](http://twitter.com/#!/DarrenCriss) is hopped up on Mountain Dew. I’m afraid for my life.

 

[@JoeyRichter](http://twitter.com/#!/JOEYRICHTER): [@chriscolfer](http://twitter.com/#!/chriscolfer) stay safe buddy [#girdyourloins](http://twitter.com/#!/search/%23girdyourloins)

 

[@chriscolfer](http://twitter.com/#!/chriscolfer): [@JoeyRichter](http://twitter.com/#!/JOEYRICHTER) my loins are fine it’s my toes I wish I had girded…

 

[@DarrenCriss](http://twitter.com/#!/DarrenCriss): [@JoeyRichter](http://twitter.com/#!/JOEYRICHTER), [@chriscolfer](http://twitter.com/#!/chriscolfer), y’all are just jealous of my wicked dance moves

 

               

 

 **Text to Joey R:** He’s doing it on purpose now, I know it. Did you tell him it was my fault you befriended the dog?

 

 **Text from Joey R:** I may have told him the story, yeah. I had no idea hed take it out on you physically. Might I suggest a swift kick to balls in retaliation?

 

 **Text from Joey R:** Also I named the mutt.

 

 **Text to Joey R:** Do tell.

 

 **Text from Joey R:** Prince Charming, on account of how D lost his shoe when they first met.

 

 **Text to Joey R:** Ahaha. That’s perfect. I might actually be coming up with ways to invite myself over so I can ignore you guys and play with her.

 

 **Text from Joey R:** Party here tonight. D said he invited you?

 

 **Text to Joey R:** He probably did. I tend to ignore his invites because his party friends are as manic as he is and in large numbers they frighten me. I’m shooting late today…

 

 **Text from Joey R:** I’ll save you a quiet spot. Or at least one of your diet cokes.

 

 **Text to Joey R:** Excellent. I have to go sing backup tracks for three different songs, and then it’s time to get my cry face on :’(

 

 **Text from Joey R:** ;__;

 

 

***

 

 

“You’re late,” Mike says as Chris walks on set.

 

“Sorry. Rehearsal went over because Darren kept stepping on my toes, and then I had studio.” His phone dings and it turns out to be a picture of Prince Charming and Joey, the dog curled up on the back of the couch with her chin resting on Joey’s head. 

“You look awful happy for a guy who’s about to break down in tears.”

 

“Kurt doesn’t break down in tears, he slowly succumbs to the inevitable and then powers through it,” Chris says without looking up from his phone, eyes tracing Joey’s lazy smile and crooked jaw. He lets his bag fall to the crook of his elbow and then into his curled fingers, setting it beside his chair and then hitching up into the seat, not quite ready to look away from the picture.

 

“Wow.”

 

“What?” Chris asks, glancing up at Mike and blinking as his eyes adjust to focusing farther than a foot in front of him.

 

“You have the dopiest look on your face right now.”

 

“I do not,” Chris argues, immediately defensive. It sounds kind of silly, though, coming through smiling lips.

 

“You got it bad, kid.”

 

Chris rolls his eyes and goes back to his phone, closing out the picture and rereading the last few texts Joey sent.

 

“Now see, I can’t tell if you’re getting into character, or if you actually think that sort of grumpy teenage behavior has any effect on me.”

 

Glancing up at the stage lights with a smile and shaking his head, Chris shrugs and then turns to Mike with an eyebrow raised. “Well I can’t tell if you actually think you’re my dad or if you’re this annoying with everyone.”

 

Mike points at him seriously. “You’re never too old for a spanking, remember that.”

 

“ _You_ remember it, old man,” Chris shoots back, trying and failing to bite back the grin that _will not stop_ stretching across his face.

 

Mike is laughing at him silently, shoulders shaking and eyebrows disappearing beneath the bill of his baseball cap.

 

“Shut up,” Chris orders, and then jumps when his phone dings, almost dropping it in his haste to see what it says. Chris can feel Mike’s smug face laughing at him still. “Shut _up_.”

 

It’s another picture of Prince Charming, this time she’s sprawled out on her back with her legs in the air, eyes closed and tongue out.

 

 _‘Nap time’_ Joey’s caption reads.

 

‘ _Jealous’_ Chris types back quickly, glancing at Mike out of the corner of his eye.

 

“So,” Mike says, trailing off and looking at him expectantly. Chris suspects a trap.

 

“So what?”

 

“ _Who is it_?” Mike asks, like it’s some super important thing.

 

“No one. Well. Obviously not no one, he’s certainly someone. But it’s nothing.” Chris clears his throat and blinks down at his phone, turning it to silent and grabbing his bag so he can stuff it in one of the pockets. “Anyway, I’m only interested in his dog,” Chris lies, tracing his nails through the carefully arranged hair at his temple.

 

“Now _that_ is more than I needed to know.”

 

“You know what I meant, pervert. And it’s not even his dog and it doesn’t even matter. I’m pretty sure he’s straight.” Chris shrugs. Normally at this point in the conversation he would pretend to be busy on his phone, but that would just make Mike even more suspicious, so he settles for inspecting his nails.

 

“Well how old is this No One?”

 

“My age… ish. Probably. Close enough. Why?” Chris looks over to see Mike waving his hand dismissively.

 

“Because if he’s under thirty you don’t have to worry about that whole gay-straight thing. Kids these days will try anything once.”

 

“I don’t want to be _tried_.”

 

“Cool your jets. That’s all dating is, trying someone on for size.”

 

“We’re not dating. We’re not anything,” Chris says, facing forward and absently tracking the tech guys as they set up the lights.

 

“So ask him on a date.”

 

“I can’t just ask him on a date,” Chris sighs, dismissing the idea before it can wriggle into his brain and set up camp there.

 

“Well are you gonna see him again?”

 

“Yes,” Chris says, a little too softly for Mike to comfortably hear, because Chris knows Mike will take it the wrong way. “There’s a party tonight at his house.”

 

Chris studiously ignores Mike’s smug, calculating face.

 

“And did he invite you to this party at his place?”

 

“No,” Chris says, shifting uncomfortably. “He… reminded me of it.”

 

“So who invited you, then?”

 

Sighing heavily, Chris crosses his legs and mumbles, “Darren. It’s Darren’s place, too, okay?”

 

Mike gives him a shrewd look. “You’re in love with Darren’s roommate?”

 

“I’m not in _love_ with anyone, Mike, _god_!”

 

“But you’ve got a thing for him.”

 

“I’ve got a thing for Diet Coke, I’m not in love with it!”

 

“How many cans do you have in your bag right now?”

 

“ _None_ ,” Chris says, and then, quietly, “…two.”

 

“Alright, here’s what you’re gonna do, kid,” Mike says, leaning forward and planting his elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced. “Go to this party and flirt your tail feathers off, okay? Stick close to him, laugh at all his jokes, touch your mouth a lot, so he’ll know you’re thinking about sex.”

 

“Please stop talking,” Chris says, jaw stiff with embarrassment and the effort he’s making not to laugh.

 

“No, this is scientific stuff, here. There have been studies. You should get a big belt buckle and sort of,” Mike untangles his fingers and waves one hand at Chris’s crotch, “frame it, with your hands. But subtly. Hook your thumbs in your belt or something. The key is to draw the eye down,” Mike says, pinching his fingers together and drawing an invisible line down the middle of his body, “towards the penis.”

 

“I really,” Chris says, voice breathless and face buried in his hands. “I just really need you to stop talking right now. Like, immediately. No more talking.”

 

“Suit yourself,” Mike says, clearly judging Chris for turning down his advice. “I’m just trying to help.”

 

“You’re not helping me. You’re scarring me. I’m _scarred_.”

 

“Well don’t say things like that when you’re framing your belt buckle. People will think you’re talking about your penis.”

 

“There is no belt buckle and _stop saying_ _penis_ ,” Chris whines, his voice high and pleading.

 

“Mike, Chris! We need you over… Chris?”

“Yeah?” Chris asks, embarrassment still tweaking his voice obnoxiously high.

 

The AD looks at him closely, clearly very concerned about something. “Have you been to makeup yet? You’re really red.”

 

Chris slumps in his seat and crosses his arms over his stomach, sighing deeply. “I wanna go home.”

 

 

*

 

 

After the scene wraps, Chris grabs a quick shower in his trailer. He pokes at the slightly puffy skin around his eyes, as if that might help deflate his post cry face, and towels his hair dry.

 

Leaving his car in his spot at the Paramount lot, he gets a cab to the party. It’s late, but, barring a natural disaster, Darren’s parties always last until at least four in the morning, so he’s not too worried. He texts Joey anyway, chewing on his lower lip as he contemplates how to word it.

 

 **Text to Joey R:** Too late to crash the party?

 

He doesn’t have to wait very long for a response.

 

 **Text from Joey R:** Never. Your Prince Charming awaits.

               

Chris swoons, just a little bit, presses his phone to his chest and leans back until his head thunks against the seat.

 

“You alright back there?”

 

“Yeah,” Chris says without lifting his head. There’s a stain on the headliner shaped remarkably like Louisiana. He sighs. “I’m fine.”

 

“Don’t throw up, okay?”

 

“I won’t.”

 

His phone buzzes against his heart, startling him into a yelp.

 

 **Text from Joey R:** Just come in when you get here. I’m stuck guarding your delicious diet colas. I am like a dragon and they are like my treasure.

 

 **Text from Joey R:** Hurry before I am slain.

 

Chris laughs, tapping his phone against his chin briefly before typing out a quick response.

 

 **Text to Joey R:** Almost there …Keep it secret. Keep it safe.

 

His phone buzzes again rather quickly.

               

 **Text from Joey R:** DONT TXT AND DRIVE HAVE YOU NOT SEEN GLEE?!

 

 **Text to Joey R:** Omg I’m in a cab stop yelling at me.

 

 **Text from Joey R:** Oh shit sorry as you were.

 

Chris smiles down at his phone. After a moment, he laughs and starts typing.

 

 **Text to Joey R:** You watch Glee

 

 **Text from Joey R:** I have no idea what youre talking about. And anyway youre not allowed to judge me fo r watching a show youre the star of.

 

Chris rolls his eyes.

 

 **Text to Joey R:** I’m not the star of Glee

 

 **Text from Joey R:** No youre the HEART of it

 

 **Text from Joey R:** And Darren is the butt.

 

 **Text to Joey R:** Just how drunk are you, exactly?

 

 **Text from Joey R:** Hardly at all. I might be a little hyper. Because of the cokes.

 

 **Text to Joey R:** How many have you had?

 

 **Text from Joey R:** Good question

 

Chris, focused on his phone, doesn’t realize they’ve come to a stop until the cab driver clears his throat. “We’re here.”

 

Looking up and blinking, Chris pays the fare and slides out of the car, typing out a quick, _here_ , with one thumb as he does. His phone starts ringing as soon as he shuts the car door.

 

“Hello?”

 

“ _Hi_.”

 

Chris slips his wallet into his back pocket and changes the phone to his other ear, walking towards the house. “What’s up?”

 

“ _I was gonna meet you at the door but I had to go into hiding with the dog_.”

 

“Ya don’t say?”

 

There’s a faint hum of music coming from the house that’s becoming more obvious the closer Chris gets.

 

“ _She was growling menacingly at Darren so we decided to hang out behind the piano_.”

 

Chris slows his approach, trying to picture the layout in his head. “You’re stuffed in that corner with the dog?”

 

“ _Yes. You’re welcome to join us; we have libations_.”

 

Chris laughs and pushes the door open, hit with a wave of friendly chatter and low, thrumming music. Darren, passing through the hall to the kitchen, turns to investigate.

 

“Chris!”

 

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Chris whispers into his phone, ending the call just in time to be pulled into a massive hug.

 

“You came! You never come! And you came! How awesome!” Darren gives him one last squeeze and lets go except for one hand on his arm, which he uses to pull Chris deeper into the house. “Sorry about your toes. You want a drink? I was gonna make drinks for some people I can do one for you. Hey, do you like rum?”

 

“I’m good,” Chris reassures him, raising his voice as they get closer to the noise of the party. He lets their shoulders knock together when Darren swerves. “You go get those drinks, okay? I’m gonna mingle.”

 

“Oh wow, yeah,” Darren leans back and says, nodding and looking mildly perplexed. “You’re gonna mingle, okay. You sure? I can introduce you to-”

 

“Go make rum-based cocktails,” Chris calls, after nudging Darren in the direction of the kitchen and veering off. “I’ll be fine!”

 

He checks to make sure Darren actually wanders into the kitchen and then weaves his way through the other guests to the piano.

 

There’s a couple making out on the bench, wrapped around each other and a few layers of clothing away from public sex, and a group of five or six unfamiliar people at the other end, talking and laughing boisterously. Chris doesn’t really feel like interrupting either of them, so when Joey’s tousled head pops up over the edge of the piano and one of his (massive) hands waves him over, Chris looks around for potential witnesses and, finding none, drops to his knees and starts to crawl.

 

He only bumps his head once before arriving on the other side, where he’s promptly greeted by a lick to the face.

 

“Hey, girl,” he laughs, gently pushing her away so he can turn around and sit up. She’s right back in his lap as soon as he’s settled, short tail wagging so hard her whole hind end is wiggling in his lap. She’s got a pink collar on, he notices, complete with a bone-shaped metal tag that reads simply, _PC_.

 

“Well you certainly are charming, I’ll give you that,” Chris says, keeping his chin out of reach of her tongue and stroking his hands down her back slowly, trying to get her to calm down.

 

“I try,” Joey says next to him, and Chris looks over with a smile.

 

After a short period of time during which Chris simply stares at Joey like an idiot, he finally clears his throat and rearranges the dog in his lap. “I was told there would be drinks.”

 

Joey’s eyes widen and he sucks in a breath, like he’s just waking up. “And so there are,” he says, slapping his thighs and twisting away briefly. When he turns back he’s got a diet coke in one hand and a mostly full fifth of Jack Daniels in the other. “Pick your poison.”

 

“Oh, umm,” Chris hums and tilts his head, wondering for the briefest of moments if maybe he shouldn’t get shitfaced. But then his gaze slips up to Joey’s stupid face, warm brown eyes looking at him expectantly, and he grabs the bottle. Then he grabs the can.

 

“Unscrew me,” he demands, wiggling the bottle as he attempts to open the can using the same hand he’s holding it with.

 

“Oh shit, we’ve got a professional on our hands,” Joey says, unscrewing the cap from the bottle and grabbing the dog, transferring her to his own lap.

 

Chris tries not to think about the way the back of Joey’s hand felt sliding against his stomach and quickly takes a swig of the whiskey, clicking his tongue and shaking his head at the kick. He chases it with a chug of coke and shivers when the burn slithers down his throat and into his stomach. “Your turn,” he rasps, handing them both over.

 

“So we’re just gonna drink until it’s gone?” Joey asks, clearly not that bothered by the idea since he follows Chris’s example, chasing his whiskey with a gulp of diet coke. He rummages around on the other side of himself once more and produces a bag of chips. “Dinner?”

 

Chris grabs a handful. “We should play a drinking game,” he muses, looking at their surroundings and munching contentedly. Unfortunately, the shiny black side of the piano and the dog lying happily in Joey’s lap don’t offer much, drinking-game-wise.

 

Just then, they’re alerted to Darren’s presence by his telltale laugh and a low, menacing rumble emanating from Prince Charming’s chest. It sounds like Darren’s sitting at the piano bench, talking with someone, and Chris leans down to check. Sure enough, Darren’s un-socked, loafer-bedecked feet are facing a pair of strappy heels. Chris wonders where the PDA couple went, but turns back to report his findings to Joey.

 

“He’s on the bench talking to a girl,” Chris whispers, absently scratching behind Prince Charming’s ears.

 

“This is perfect,” Joey murmurs, ducking low and whispering warm breath into Chris’s ear. Chris tries not to shiver at the sensation. “He can be our drinking game. A drink every time he says a word with three or more syllables.”

 

Chris nods, leaning up and turning his head until his lips are almost brushing Joey’s ear. “If he says ‘zeitgeist’ we finish the bottle.”

 

Joey snorts and Chris shushes him, grinning. “Now shh, we have to listen.”

 

Chris has always found Darren’s conversations to be very earnest and slightly pretentious, and this one is no different. They don’t have a problem finding words to drink at, passing the bottle between them rather steadily, mocking Darren’s inflection every once in a while and sometimes getting distracted when the dog does something cute.

 

Chris finds it’s easier to pay attention to Darren or Prince Charming than it is to give any thought to the spark of warmth that stirs in him every time he sees Joey’s lips wrapping around the mouth of their shared bottle.

 

Eventually, he relaxes completely, the toll of too little sleep and too much work making his eyelids heavy and everything else a little funnier than it would be otherwise.

 

There’s about an inch left in the bottom of the bottle when Darren actually says zeitgeist, and it takes them a while to stop giggling before they can finish it off.

 

Joey takes a big swig and presses the bottle against Chris’s chest, the remaining alcohol sloshing thinly.

 

They ran out of coke after the second can, so Chris just tips his head back and lets the rest of the whiskey burn dully down his throat before slumping fuzzily against Joey. “Woo,” he says flatly, the bottle and his hand thunking down by the side of him. “Now what?”

 

Prince Charming noses at his cheek, pressing one paw against his thigh and then taking a small leap into his lap from Joey’s. She pants happily and flops down, curling into a ball.

 

“I think,” Joey says, reaching a hand out to rub gently at Prince Charming’s head, “that we should dance.”

 

Chris stares down at Joey’s (very large) hand and blinks. “I don’t dance, though. Plus there’s no room.”

 

“I meant out there.” Joey waves his hand towards the piano, indicating the party beyond it. “And isn’t that what the drinking was for? To loosen us up.”

 

“I’m loose,” Chris says, slumping down even farther in evidence, until his cheek is pressed up against Joey’s shoulder. “Doesn’t mean I can dance.” He tries to hold still, feeling the soft rise and fall of Joey’s shoulder with every breath he takes.

 

It doesn’t take very long for Joey to move out from under him. “C’mon. Need to let the dog out, anyway,” Joey says, patting Chris’s knee and squeezing it for half a second before he pushes himself up to his knees, sliding Chris’s cheek from his shoulder. “Under or around, do you think?”

 

Chris, who is perfectly fine staying where he is, merely shrugs.

 

Joey looks at him for a moment, and then shrugs back. “Over?” He nods. “Over.” He grabs the edge of the piano and pulls himself up. With a grunt, he heaves himself on top of it, penguin sliding until he’s out of sight. Smiling, Chris ducks down and watches Joey’s feet land firmly on the other side.

 

There’s a sudden hush in the chatter of the room, and Chris hears Darren’s confused voice. “What the hell, dude?”

 

“Private party,” Joey says easily, and then whistles. Prince Charming perks up, scrabbling out of Chris’s lap and under the piano. “You weren’t invited,” Joey explains to Darren, making Chris giggle. The rest of the party seems to return to the previous noise level, and Chris has to strain to hear their conversation.

 

“You had a private party behind the piano by your _self_ ,” Darren posits, voice skeptical. “And keep that evil, obnoxiously cute thing away from me.”

 

Joey doesn’t answer right away, and Chris rolls his eyes, grabbing the edge of the piano and pulling himself up. He wobbles a little on his numb right leg and blinks sleepily at Darren. “Hi.”

 

Darren frowns and points at him. “You told me you were gonna mingle.”

 

“I mingled,” Chris mumbles, and then yawns, leaning over and planting his elbows on the piano, chin in his hands.

 

“You conspired against me with my best friend. That’s not mingling.”

 

“We weren’t conspiring,” Joey scoffs. “We were deep in a conversation about…” He waves a hand vaguely.

 

Chris smirks and doesn’t bother lifting his head up when it tilts heavily to the side, cheek smashing against his curled-up fingers. “The effect of the socio-political zeitgeist on modern entertainment censorship.”

 

“You were _spying_!” Darren gasps, one hand splayed on his chest, his outrage enhanced by his mild inebriation.

 

“We were there first,” Joey tells him, leaning down to pet the dog when she starts growling at Darren’s raised voice. “You can’t call us spies just because you’re loud and easy to make fun of.”

 

Darren says something back, but Chris tunes him out, uninterested. All of a sudden he wants out of the corner. He stretches forward, straining up on his tiptoes, and grabs the far edge of the piano with his fingertips, dragging himself up on top of it with what feels like a herculean effort. Once there, the small burst of energy is tapped and he slumps down, cheek pressed against the cool, polished wood. “This is a nice piano,” he tells no one in particular, lips moving sluggishly against the shiny black surface.

 

“What did you do to him?” Chris hears Darren ask. “We agreed no weed.”

 

“I think he’s just tired,” says Joey’s voice, low and closer than Darren’s. “You alright, buddy?”

 

“I’m waiting for my second wind,” Chris tells them, the effort of looking up too much to contemplate. “It’ll be here any minute.”

 

“C’mere,” Joey says, and Chris frowns, dragging his chin around until he can see Joey’s hands, held open and waiting.

 

Chris heaves a deep sigh and pushes his upper body up, scooting closer to the edge. He’s about to spin around so he can dismount legs first when Joey’s (wide, warm) hands clamp tight, high around his ribcage, and pull.

 

Chris squawks and clutches onto Joey’s shoulders, laughing when he’s dragged off the piano and spun around until his feet find purchase on the floor. “Wee,” he says, when they stop, his face pressed into Joey’s chest and his heart racing. He straightens up when he remembers his cheek sliding off of Joey’s shoulder, figuring he probably shouldn’t hold on any longer than he has to. After patting the wrinkles out of Joey’s shirt, Chris clears his throat and steps away. “I would now like to go on a roller coaster,” he announces, trying to find something besides Joey to look at and landing on Darren.

 

“Second wind?” Darren hypothesizes.

 

“Second wind,” Chris agrees, valiantly wrestling back a yawn.

 

“Hey guys!” a voice says, and Chris whips around to see Dianna, smiling and squeezing past some guy who seems to be giving a lap dance to an empty chair.

 

“I didn’t know you’d be here.” She wraps Chris up in a big hug once she’s close enough, and he leans into her, inhaling her familiar scent.

 

“You smell nice,” he says, once they let go of each other, because he doesn’t think he’s ever told her before. “Lemony.”

 

She smiles at him, taking his sniffing in stride, and turns to hug both Darren and Joey.

 

“I haven’t seen you guys much tonight,” she exclaims. “And you!” Dianna smacks Joey lightly on the arm with the back of her hand. “You pulled a disappearing act. You promised me a dance earlier!”

 

“I was being unfairly persecuted for my love of animals,” Joey declares, causing Darren to huff, which makes the dog bark.

 

Chris looks back and forth between Dianna and Joey for a moment, taking in the way they’re standing so close together, the way Dianna’s hand rests easily on Joey’s forearm as they talk, holding his attention.

 

He can feel himself blushing, embarrassed at having gotten his hopes up, and mentally rolls his eyes at himself.

 

The dog, shifting restlessly at their feet, lets out another yip.

 

Chris bends down at the same time Joey does, and they barely manage to avoid knocking their head together. Chris bats Joey’s hands away, grabbing the dog and hefting her up to his chest, a warm, solid weight in his arms. “Why don’t you go dance?” Chris says, smiling at them and not even really in a fake way, once the dog squirms around so she can lick at his chin. “I’ll take Prince Charming here out back.”

 

“Are… are you sure?” Joey asks, brow furrowed. Dianna looks concerned as well. Darren merely eyes the dog resentfully.

 

“Yes,” Chris says, closing one eye and turning away from the escalating intensity of the licks. “We’re going to bond.”

 

“How come you get to bond with the dog?” Darren asks. “Clearly I am the one who needs to bond with the dog. She won’t even let me _pet_ her.”

 

“Oh stop whining,” Joey says. “Everyone else in the world loves you. You can handle not being liked by one dog.”

 

“It’s surprisingly difficult to manage when that one dog has invaded your living space and brainwashed all your friends,” Darren grumbles, glaring balefully at Prince Charming.

 

“Don’t listen to him,” Chris tells her, turning a little, as if to shield her from Darren’s dagger vision. “Don’t let the mean little man hurt your feelings.” He sniffs, tilting his chin up and beginning to make his way towards the sliding glass door that leads to the back yard. “Come on.”

 

“Don’t stay out there too long,” Darren says before he gets too far. “You still have to mingle!”

 

“I didn’t realize there was a quota!” Chris replies over his shoulder.

 

“It’s good for your career!”

 

“Yes, _mother_ ,” Chris calls pointedly, not looking back. He side-steps the guy who was giving a lap dance to the chair earlier, avoiding what now seems to be an impassioned argument, also with the chair. He makes it a few more steps before he sighs and turns around, leaning forward to get the guy’s attention.

 

“Yeah?” the guy asks, once he notices Chris. His gaze flickers up and down Chris’s whole length, and then levels out at Chris’s face, a glint of recognition in his dark eyes.

 

“Are you okay?” Chris asks, immediately wishing he hadn’t stopped.

 

“What?”

 

Chris gestures awkwardly at the chair, shifting the dog over to one arm. “You seem to be having some difficulties.”

 

“I’m running lines,” the guy explains.

 

“…With a chair?”

 

“I’ve played against people more wooden,” the guy says, grinning at Chris. Or at his own joke. It’s difficult to tell.

 

Laughing reluctantly, Chris holds up his free hand. “Alright, whatever floats your boat.”

 

The guy sticks out his hand before Chris can turn away, “I’m Eric.”

 

Chris opens his mouth, shuts it, and then takes Eric’s hand. “Chris.”

 

“You work with Darren, right?” Eric asks.

 

“Yeah,” Chris says, smiling a little. He’s pretty sure this guy knows exactly who he is.

 

“Well, Chris, maybe you’ll let me run a few lines with you sometime.” Eric smiles what Chris supposes is charmingly. “If you ever feel like rescuing me from my chair, that is.”

 

Chris lets his eyes wander away from Eric’s intense look. He sees Darren, still talking to Dianna. Joey’s there, too, although he seems to be paying more attention to Chris than either Darren or Dianna. “Maybe,” Chris says eventually, gaze sliding slowly away from Joey’s and finding Eric’s again. “I’ll see you around,” he says in a voice he hopes is friendly enough not to be a snub, lifting the dog up and shrugging like maybe he’d rather not go but he has to.

 

He turns around quickly and makes it to the back door without any further incidents, sliding it open and stepping into the blissfully chilly air with a sigh.

 

Setting the dog down and watching her scamper off the deck and into the grass, Chris takes in his surroundings and notices a woman hanging over the railing on the other side of the patio, blowing smoke rings. She catches him looking and shakes her pack at him, silently offering one.

 

He actually contemplates it briefly before shaking his head and smiling.

 

She shrugs and takes another drag, turning back to the yard, and Chris looks around for a place to settle before deciding to sit on the edge of the deck.

 

His limbs are heavy again, weighted with a completely unwarranted sense of disappointment and the fuzziness of mildly inebriated and terminally confused sleep deprivation. Hugging his knees, Chris stares out at the darkness and blinks, the swirling hint of mentholated smoke and the buzz from the glassed-off party lulling him into a numb sort of trance.

 

He doesn’t know how long he’s out of it, or whether or not he actually falls asleep, but the exposed skin on his face and hands is prickly with cold when the woman with the cigarettes taps his shoulder. 

 

“You okay, kid?” she asks. Her voice is low and laced with a soothing huskiness.

 

Chris blinks up at her. “Yeah.”

 

“Alright. Just making sure. Thanks for the company.”

 

He nods dumbly and rubs his hands together, watching her slip back into the house. Turning back to the dark yard, Chris gives a whistle and then clicks his tongue, pushing himself up on stiff legs.

 

Prince Charming trots into view, edging around the glow cast by the porch light but not getting any closer.

 

“You wanna come inside?” Chris asks, taking a step closer to the sliding glass door and patting his thigh. “C’mon, come here, girl.”

 

She plops down and cocks her head at him, refusing to budge.

 

Chris sighs. “Alright. Um. Bark if you need me, I guess.”

 

She doesn’t answer. Because she’s a dog. Chris shakes his head at himself and opens the door, stepping inside and giving one last whistle just in case. The dog remains resolutely parked, though she cocks her head at him again, which is regrettably cute.  _Dogs_. Dogs and _boys_. Confusing, adorable jerkfaces. Heaving one last sigh, Chris turns away and steps across the threshold, sliding the door shut behind him and taking in his surroundings.

 

The crowd has thinned considerably since he went outside, and there seems to be some sort of exodus occurring, judging by the steady stream of people heading down the hall towards the door.

 

“We’re going bowling,” says the woman with the cigarettes as she walks by, slinging a light coat over her shoulders. “You coming?”

 

Chris shakes his head but doesn’t hold back the bemused grin when she ruffles his hair.

 

“What’d you do to get Angela to like you so much?” a voice asks from somewhere just behind his shoulder.

 

Chris shrugs, turning around to face Joey. “Left her alone, mostly.”

 

“Hmm.” Joey follows her with his eyes thoughtfully.

 

“So, bowling, huh?” Chris says, stretching up briefly on his tiptoes and then falling back down.

 

Joey nods. “Dianna’s brilliant idea. The neighbors were getting antsy again. They don’t approve of our young people music and Darren’s too nice to tell everyone to fuck off, so the hipster wonder twins are leading everyone to the Promised Land of Disco Bowl. Poor souls.” He shakes his head, “Can’t resist the shoes.”

 

“So everyone’s going?” Chris looks around, seeing one or two pockets of people who don’t seem to be in a hurry to leave.

 

“Nah, I’m staying here to host the stragglers,” Joey leans forward and drops his voice, nodding subtly towards Eric, who’s still deep in conversation with his chair. “And to make sure Chaz over there doesn’t make off with the dining set.”

 

Chris barks out a laugh, covering his mouth and turning away quickly when a few people look over. “He said his name was Eric.”

 

“Well he looks like a Chaz,” Joey grumbles, arms crossing over his chest as Eric chooses that moment to glance around the room, his gaze falling on them. “But not like a fun, ironic Chaz. Just like a regular douche type Chaz,” Joey continues, even as Eric makes his way towards them. “We audition for a lot of the same things,” Joey confides under his breath, “and he _gets_ some of them.”

 

Chris nods, his previous suspicions confirmed. “Douche.”

 

“ _Yes_.”

 

“Hey guys. Chris, Joseph.” Eric nods at both of them, but smiles at Chris.

 

“Hey guy,” Joey says flatly. “Chaz.”

 

“It’s Eric.”

 

“Naturally.” Joey says, in a manner which suggests it isn’t so at all. Chris coughs and scratches at his upper lip, trying in vain to hide his grin.

 

“Well, uh,” Eric gives Joey a strange look but ultimately turns back to Chris. “Since it’s getting a little quieter around here I was wondering if you wanted to maybe run those lines. Give me something a little more animated to work off of. There’s a dance part in particular you might enjoy.”

 

Chris flashes back to Dianna, squeezing past Eric as he gave the chair a lap dance, and he can feel his face crumbling into a frown of its own volition. “Um…”

 

“Wow, that sounds great!” Joey says, his previous droll expression replaced with a manic, mocking excitement. He turns to Chris and nudges him in the shoulder. “Doesn’t that sound great?”

 

“Yeah!” Chris says, matching the volume if not the intensity of Joey’s voice. He looks at Joey for a moment, furling his eyebrows.

 

“Unfortunately, we’re kinda busy,” Joey continues, now with an overwrought frown. “We’ve got a thing.”

 

“Thing?” Chaz, no, _Eric_ , asks.

 

Chris shrugs apologetically.

 

“In the kitchen,” Joey supplies.

 

Chris grits his teeth and resists the urge to elbow Joey in the ribs. “Yeah, we have to… sweep.”

 

“And it takes two of you to sweep?” Eric says, looking between them disappointedly.

 

Chris feels a wave of shame roll through him, slow and steady for maximum guilt distribution. Joey doesn’t seem to feel the same.

 

“One of us has to hold the dustpan. It’s much more efficient that way.” Joey grins at Eric, squinting insincerely, and grabs Chris’s elbow just as Chris decides he’s about to use it, dragging him away towards the kitchen.

 

As soon as they’re through the archway Chris yanks his arm from Joey’s grasp and glares at him.

 

“What?”

 

“What _what_? You know what. There are ways to get rid of unwanted weirdos without being a complete and utter dick.”

 

Joey rolls his eyes and plants his palm on the counter, springing up to sit on it. “I wasn’t a complete dick. Maybe like… half a dick.”

 

“Yes, ‘cause that’s so much more appealing.” Chris rolls his eyes. “And you were three quarters of a dick, at least.” He searches around for a cupboard so he doesn’t have to look at Joey’s face; he knows if he does he’ll crack a smile and his stern façade will be ruined. He spots a pantry and opens it, finding nothing but a few dusty cans of expired pork and beans and a bag of rice.

 

“What are you looking for?”

 

“A broom.”

 

“We don’t actually have a broom. We have a little brush thing and a dustpan. That’s why we fight over who has to sweep.”

 

“How long have you lived here again?”

 

“It’s a work in progress.” Joey shrugs. “But we aren’t sweeping now anyway. We’re in the middle of a party. Or possibly the beginning of the end of a party. But still. A party.”

 

“From which we are hiding in the kitchen,” Chris says, looking pointedly at Joey. “You should sweep. As penance for your high percentage of… dickitude.”

 

“Dickiness?”

 

“Dickosity.”

 

“Fine.” Joey hops off the counter. “But not now.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Now is a time for partying and living life to the fullest.” He opens the fridge and reaches one long arm in. Chris tries to peer around him at the sound of bottles clanking, but he can’t see over Joey’s shoulders. When Joey finally withdraws his hand he’s holding a can of diet coke and there’s a crooked smile on his face. He sets it carefully on the island and slides it towards Chris, his lower lip caught between his teeth. “I hid one for you, so it would be cold.”

 

Chris lets his head fall back, smiling at the ceiling, and swipes the can off the island. He curls his wrist and tucks the can into his chest when he straightens up, rolling his eyes when he sees Joey grinning at him. “Whatever. You’re still a dick.”

 

“ _Mostly_ a dick,” Joey corrects, leaning against the counter smugly. “And only ‘cause I saved us from some sleazy jerkface.”

 

“Just because _you_ don’t like him-”

 

“Oh please. No one likes him. He wasn’t even invited; he just showed up. Why do you think he spent the whole night talking to a _chair_?”

 

Chris refuses to laugh, instead pointing at Joey with the hand that’s holding his coke. “ _You_ spent the first half of the party hiding with a dog.”

 

“A dog who _likes_ me. And anyway, I’ve spent the middle half with _you_.” Joey drops most of his smile, but still looks pleased when he tilts his head at Chris. “You like me, don’t you?”

 

Chris swallows against his suddenly dry throat. “Maybe.” He picks at the tab of his coke with his thumbnail, looking at it for guidance, and finally decides on, “It might help your chances if you didn’t say things like ‘middle half,’ you know.”

 

“Liar. You know that’s part of my charm.”

 

“Oh,” Chris says, feigning surprise as he looks up. “You have charm?”

 

Joey drops his head forward slightly, looking at Chris from beneath quirked eyebrows.

 

Chris attempts to open his coke as innocently as possible, which turns out to be pretty much exactly like he would open it normally, except he bats his eyelashes more.

 

Joey isn’t fooled.

 

“Come on,” he wheedles, inching closer. “You like me, admit it. I have charm. I can woo.”

 

“Well I-I wouldn’t know about any wooing,” Chris stammers, setting his coke on the counter and looking down at where Joey’s toes are almost touching his.

 

Joey goes quiet, and Chris looks up to find himself being watched. “You wouldn’t?” Joey asks eventually, something unbearably careful in his tone.

 

Chris sucks in a breath and feels his eyes go wide.

 

Joey smiles a little, his brows drawn together in confusion.

 

“Unless I… _haven’t_ been making it all up in my head,” Chris says cautiously.

 

“You really haven’t,” Joey breathes, shaking his head.

 

Chris goes very still, even though his hands keep shaking, eyes trained on the wall over Joey’s shoulder. “Huh.”

 

Joey laughs, a puff of breath Chris can feel against his cheek. “Do you mind?”

 

Focusing once more on Joey’s eyes, Chris clarifies, “Being wooed?”

 

Joey nods.

 

“With diet coke and a stray dog?” feeling something break loose inside him, Chris shakes his head, tension draining from his shoulders. “Not by you.”

 

Joey bites his lower lip and smiles, lifting one of his (strong, long-fingered) hands and brushing his palm down Chris’s upper arm. He leans in, letting his lip slide back out from between his teeth.

 

“Joey Richter are you gonna kiss me?” Chris breathes, unwilling to misinterpret anything else if he can help it.

 

“I was thinkin’ about it, yeah.”

 

“Oh,” Chris sighs, letting his fingertips brush against Joey’s waist. “Carry on.”

 

There’s a warm weight on his shoulder that slides up to the back of his neck, and Chris tips forward, balancing on his toes and letting his eyes flutter shut.

 

He feels Joey’s breath on his lips, imagines the barest hint of pressure, and then jerks back, eyes snapping open at the piercing howl that cuts through the air.

 

Joey groans and drops his forehead to Chris’s shoulder, turning so that his words are aimed towards Chris’s sternum. “If I go get her now we might make it through our first ever party night with no official noise complaints.”

 

“Go,” Chris says, stroking a hand down Joey’s bowed back. “We’ve got the whole third half of the party.”

 

Joey straightens up, his hands cupping Chris’s jaw as he breathes out heavily through his nose. The dog yelps pitifully and Joey laughs, shaking his head and letting his hands fall away. He turns and jogs out of the kitchen, and Chris is left with nothing but a racing heart and a cold feeling where Joey’s hot hands had been pressed against his face.

 

Chris grabs his diet coke and follows him out at a more sedate pace, smiling when Prince Charming darts past Joey’s legs and races up the stairs. For a minute, it looks like Joey’s going to let her go, but then a resounding crash echoes down from the second floor and he rolls his eyes and follows, loping up the steps three at a time.

 

Smiling, Chris looks around and settles in the first chair he sees, giving a happy sigh that turns into a yawn. He claps a hand down on his thigh and bounces a little in his seat.

 

He’d been wooed.

 

On _purpose_.

 

Someone steps in front of him, obscuring the light, and Chris looks up, expecting Joey, but finding Eric instead.

 

“Hey Chris!”

 

With a jolt of comprehension, Chris realizes just whose chair he’s sitting on. “Shit,” he murmurs.

 

“What was that?”

 

“Hello!” Chris smiles, even though can’t help but notice the crumpled sides Eric is clutching.

 

“Done sweeping?”

 

“Ah…” Chris looks around. “Apparently,” he says, after giving Joey what he thinks is a reasonable amount of time to magically come to his rescue.

 

Eric grins, putting Chris in mind of a puppy. Or maybe a shark. He brandishes the rolled up sides like a bouquet. “Whaddaya say?”

 

“I guess I can’t refuse,” Chris says, taking them from Eric and trying desperately not to laugh when Eric immediately tucks his thumbs into his belt, fingers framing his ornate silver buckle.

 

Chris takes a drink of coke to fortify himself, maybe help with how heavy his eyelids are getting, and settles in to do his time.

 

It isn’t that bad, even though Eric mostly treats him like the chair he’s sitting on. Chris doesn’t mind, it means he doesn’t have to pay attention, simply reading lines out in a monotone when Eric stops talking for longer than three seconds, (any shorter than that and Eric is merely pausing for dramatic effect, Chris learns).

 

Joey comes back down with Prince Charming a few minutes later, reacting dramatically when he sees Chris’s predicament. Chris has an incredibly difficult time not laughing during the elaborate pantomime Joey performs behind Eric’s back. Chris mentally dubs it ‘The Fall of Chaz.’ It’s very compelling, though it involves more glass boxes than are strictly feasible in a warzone. Then Joey is called away by someone asking about the entertainment system, and Chris is left alone with Eric once more, struggling harder and harder to keep his eyes open.

 

He must fail eventually, because one minute Eric is arguing zealously at Chris/the chair, and the next, he’s murmuring plaintively at Joey.

 

“No,” Joey whispers firmly. “You bored him into a coma, man, just let him sleep. The party’s over anyway. You should get your stuff and go.”

 

“I just wanted to give him my number,” Eric whines. Chris slits his eyes open to see them standing a few feet away, Prince Charming circling restlessly at their feet.

 

“Trust me; he’s _got_ your number.”

 

Chris waits until Eric is well and truly gone before groaning and stretching, legs out in front of him and arms over his head.

 

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Joey turns and smiles, holding out a hand that Chris uses to pull himself up.

 

“How long was I out?” he asks, rubbing his eyes.

 

“I have no idea; I was in the other room until a minute ago. Chaz only noticed ‘cause you dropped your can.”

 

“Oh shit,” Chris looks down at the floor by the chair.

 

“Relax, it was empty.”

 

“I…” Chris starts, thinking back to the admittedly blurry few minutes before he fell asleep and remembering a half full can. He supposes it could have been half empty, given the circumstances, but still. “I think I might sleep drink.”

 

“Well, that sounds healthy,” Joey says, tugging Chris in by the hand he never let go of and dropping his head to rest his temple against Chris’s with a sigh.

 

Chris leans against his solid frame gratefully. “I’m kind of exhausted,” he admits, unable to even work up a shiver when Joey’s exhale ghosts across his neck. “I should go home.” He really doesn’t want to go home.

 

“Pshh,” Joey takes a step back, jiggling Chris’s hand. “Just stay here. I won’t even be a creep and make you stay with me. We have fully functioning guest quarters, you know.”

 

Chris, who would actually rather Joey were a creep in this instance, simply raises his eyebrows and follows him up the stairs.

 

They stop by the first door at the top, and Joey points across the hall. “Bathroom,” he says, then moves his arm over, pointing to the next door. “My room.” He turns and opens the door they’re standing next to. “Guest ro- oh my god.”

 

Chris bites back a laugh when he sees what Joey’s looking at. It’s the PDA couple from the piano bench when Chris first arrived. They’re naked and fast asleep and suspiciously shiny, lying atop the rumpled covers of the guest bed.

 

“Well,” Chris says, shoving his hands in his pockets and averting his eyes as Joey carefully closes the door once more.

 

“Yeah.” Joey nods, looking a little shell shocked.

 

“Was that lube?” Chris asks after a beat.

 

“I think so, yeah.”

 

“Did they bring their own, or do you just keep a really well-stocked guest room?”

 

“They must have brought it with them,” Joey says softly, staring vaguely at a spot on the wall.

 

“Thinking ahead,” Chris says, mentally thanking the sleeping couple as he takes a step towards Joey’s room. “I can appreciate that.”

 

 “Right. So.” Joey shakes his head as though to clear it. “Plan B.”

 

“It’s not creepy on your part if I invite myself, is it?” Chris asks, turning around and bringing a hand up behind himself, curling his fingers around the doorknob of Joey’s door. “’Cause getting a cab means walking all the way downstairs once it gets here, and then trying not to fall asleep on the way home…”

 

Joey looks relieved. “Nope. Your part, on the other hand…” He smiles as he closes the distance between them, tracing his fingers along Chris’s arm until his hand is wrapped around Chris’s. “Kinda forward, on your part; I’m not gonna lie.” He twists his wrist and Chris follows the door as it swings open, stepping back into the room. “But it’s also kinda hot.”

 

Joey stays close, shutting the door once Prince Charming trots inside and turning back to Chris, who takes in the understated décor with tired eyes.

 

“The bed’s not exactly made,” Joey says, gently nudging Chris toward it. “But at least it’s not all… lubey.”

 

Chris sinks down onto the mattress with a sigh, eyes closing in contentment.  He groans, an embarrassingly pornographic sound, and tips over to bury his face in a pillow, hiding the accompanying blush. He stays that way, embarrassment melting into comfort and a bone-deep heaviness, until he feels something move his feet. He looks up slowly, eyes creaking open to see Joey removing his shoes.

 

“You don’t have to do that,” Chris says, voice thick and movements sluggish.

 

“Don’t interfere with my wooing, okay?” Joey says softly, rubbing his hands up Chris’s calves and kneading gently.

 

“Just wait ‘til I’m awake,” Chris mumbles, rolling onto his back and peeling his over shirt off. “I’m gonna woo the shit out of you.” He drops his shirt by the side of the bed, arm thumping down with it, and decides that untucking his undershirt is too much work. His eyes slide shut.

 

“I don’t need to be wooed,” Joey tells him, crawling up alongside him and draping an arm over is stomach. “I’ll totally settle for a good night kiss.”

 

“Mmm,” Chris tries to agree, tries to open his eyes, or maybe turn his head. The last thing he remembers is waiting. Waiting for Joey to finally kiss him, for the world to turn back on, but the dark, drowsy sensation in his limbs and behind his eyes is too dense, and he’s too weary to fight it.

 

 

***

 

 

Chris doesn’t know what wakes him up, not right away. It could be the sunlight streaming through the crack in the curtains, or the dog nuzzling insistently at his toes, or maybe the long arm wrapped heavily around his waist.

 

A phone rings on the bedside table, sounding suspiciously similar to the evil bird he’s just been dreaming about, and Chris flops a hand out before he’s fully aware of what he’s doing, snatching it clumsily from the table and answering the call. “’Lo?”

 

“ _Hello, is this Joe?_ ”

 

“Um, no,” Chris says, rolling over in Joey’s embrace and getting distracted by the sleepy smile Joey gives him as he blinks awake. “Hang on.”

 

“Hey,” Joey rumbles, tucking his arm tight around Chris and pulling him closer.

 

Chris smiles apologetically, lifting the phone away from his ear and offering it with a shrug.

 

Joey frowns at the phone, sliding his fingers across Chris’s as he takes it and drops it lazily to his ear. “This is Joey.”

 

Chris, missing the weight of Joey’s arm around him, sighs and burrows closer, folding his arms us between them and knocking their knees together gently, listening as Joey hums in agreement with something.

 

“The flier? Oh.”

 

The long line of Joey’s body stiffens against him, and Chris stops swirling patterns against his chest with his fingertips, leaning back to watch Joey’s face, suddenly nervous.

 

“Gray, yeah, and her tail-” Joey takes a deep breath, his next words softer. “Yeah. That’s… that sounds like her.”

 

Chris sits up, looking at Prince Charming curled up down by their feet, and pats his lap.

 

She wiggles happily up the bed, the tag on her collar jingling like a bell. Stepping into Chris’s lap and putting her front paws on his chest, she gives his chin a dainty lick. “Hey, girl.” He scrubs his hands down her back, feeling her muscles ripple, and stops to scratch at a spot over her back right hip that makes her short leg twitch.

 

Listening vaguely while Joey makes plans to meet the woman on the other end of the line at a dog park a few blocks away, Chris strokes down her back over and over again, until she drops down and rolls over onto it, paws flopping and stubby tail wagging.

 

Joey’s hand comes to rest on her belly, rubbing gently as he sits up, scooting close until his chest is pressed against Chris’s side.

  
“You’re going home, girl.”

 

She yips obliviously.

 

“Fuck,” Chris states, leaning against Joey.

 

“Yeah.”

 

*

 

They get up lethargically, sadness settling around them like a fog and making everything seem slower than usual. Joey gives Chris a toothbrush still in the packaging, and the whole time he brushes his teeth he stares mournfully at himself in the mirror, wondering how on earth he managed to become this attached to the dog so very quickly.

 

Even Prince Charming is affected by their gloomy mood, trudging after them as they get ready and barely managing a small wag of her tail when Joey pours some food in her shiny new plastic bowl.

 

“When are we supposed to meet her?” Chris asks, sitting on a stool at the island in the kitchen and poking listlessly at his Cinnamon Toast Crunch with a spoon. One side of the island is piled high with a truly impressive amount of empty pizza boxes, and the other is a cluster of empty liquor and beer bottles, but he cleared a path down the middle before he sat down, and Joey settles against the counter in his line of sight.

 

“Eleven,” Joey says softly. “It’s about a fifteen minute walk from here.”

 

Chris squints at the readout on the microwave behind Joey. They’ve got a little less than an hour left before they need to leave.

 

Joey rests an elbow on the counter, watching Prince Charming eat her food, and sniffs into his coffee mug as he takes a sip.

 

Then he sets it down and sniffs again, his eyes glistening suspiciously.

 

Chris sets his spoon down and slides off the stool, making his way around the island and opening his arms. Joey reels him in and leans back against the counter, walking his feet apart and out until he’s low enough to tuck himself against Chris’s chest.

 

“This is all your fault, you know.” Joey tells him thickly, lips moving against Chris’s collarbone. His arms tighten around Chris’s waist, forearms folding together in a strong bar of pressure across Chris’s lower back. Chris rubs a palm across Joey’s shoulder blades and takes a deep breath. He knows.

 

They hear the scrape of a key in the lock, followed by a thump and Darren’s familiar mild cursing, and they untangle themselves before he makes it to the kitchen, Chris taking a step away from Joey and his slumped over shoulders.

 

Darren’s hair is messy and his shirt is on inside out when he stumbles through the archway, honing in almost immediately on Chris’s mostly untouched bowl of cereal.

 

“Is this mine, can this be mine?” he asks, looking at both of them and then scooping the bowl up, cradling it to his chest. “Mine.”

 

“Good morning,” Joey says.

 

Darren nods, his cheeks already full of cereal, puffed out like a squirrel’s. “Mmnninng.” He scrutinizes them closely for a moment, and Chris wonders if maybe he’s got the way Joey’s arms fit around him imprinted on his skin or something. Darren circles the spoon in their direction. “What the hell’s wrong with _you_ two?”

 

“Prince Charming’s owner called this morning,” Chris says softly.

 

Darren stares at them, swallowing his mouthful with a gulp. “Shit guys, I’m sorry.”

 

Joey shrugs.

 

Darren bites his lip and looks down at the dog. “I’d hug you, but your evil dog would probably bite me, so.”

 

Joey throws a mostly empty paper towel roll at Darren, who bats it onto the island only to pick it up and fling it back.

 

“Fuck off,” Joey says, catching the cardboard cylinder with a small smile on his face. “Have you even slept yet?”

 

“I might have slept. The third place we went was a hookah bar. Four to five AM is really blurry.” He turns to Chris. “Dianna said to tell you good night. You know, back when it was still night time. And to not be silly. I told her that second one was hopeless, but all she did was pull my hair.”

 

“Go to bed,” Chris laughs at him, wondering how Dianna knew but loving that she did, for some reason. He leans over and plucks the spoon that Darren wields defensively right out of his fingers. “And give me back my cereal.” He tugs the bowl out of Darren’s hands, sloshing a little milk onto the surface of the island and clinking a few bottles together.

 

Darren holds up his hands in surrender, half a smile on his face. “I’m gonna go fool around on the keyboard in the office. Think I figured something out with that one song.”

 

“It’s not even an office,” Joey confides as Chris quickly finishes what Darren has left him in the bowl. “We just agreed to call it that because saying ‘I’m gonna go do my business in a soundproofed closet now’ sounds kind of weird.”

 

Joey hands Chris the last of the paper towels, and when Chris is finished mopping up the spilled milk, he looks up to find Joey peering at him through the empty roll.

 

“Hi,” Chris says, feeling his face heat up.

 

“…Hello.” Joey lowers the makeshift telescope.

 

Chris smiles and looks down, cupping his hands around the bowl and pushing it forward with his thumbs. He feels Joey step up behind him and tilts his head to the side, inhaling sharply through his nose when Joey’s palms smooth down his back and around to bracket his waist.

 

Joey tilts his head down, nosing at Chris’s exposed neck.

 

“Did you ever get that good night kiss?” Chris asks softly, a little breathless. He can feel Joey smile against his neck.

 

“It kinda turned into a goodnight snore. I didn’t think you’d be all that into it.”

 

Chris bites his lips and turns slightly locking eyes with Joey when he lifts his head up. “You might be surprised.”

 

Laughing, Joey puts pressure on his hips, pulling one side and pushing the other, until Chris turns around to face him completely, pressed close between Joey and the edge of the island.

 

Chris slides his fingers into Joey’s hair slowly, twisting his fingers around the soft brown locks and tugging him down, only to clamp his eyes shut in frustration when the dog whines at their feet, nipping at his pant leg.

 

Joey gives a groaning laugh, and Chris looks down to see her giving his jeans the same treatment.

 

“We should probably let her out,” Chris breathes, dropping his forehead to rest against the side of Joey’s throat.

 

“One of these days,” Joey says, “we’re gonna kiss, and it’s gonna be awesome.”

 

Chris smiles, kind of stupidly glad that they both think it’s worth waiting for, and follows Joey out to the back door, Prince Charming racing ahead of them, her collar tinkling merrily as she dances by the glass.

 

Joey lets her out and they follow at a more leisurely speed, staying on the porch as she sniffs hurriedly around the yard, peeing in what are apparently special strategic pee spots that she seems particularly serious about.

 

“She’s very determined,” Chris observes, elbows on the railing where Angela had smoked the night before, watching Prince Charming move from patch of grass to patch of grass.

 

Joey nods, moving a little closer so that his arm brushes Chris’s. “Determined urination is key in a Battleshits-oriented household.”

 

Chris grins.

 

Eventually, Prince Charming disappears behind some bushes, rustling the leaves and giving a few playful growls. When she comes trotting back to them, she’s got a tennis ball in her mouth. Chris thinks at first that it might just be an old one she found, or something that either Joey or Darren used to play with, but when she brings it onto the deck and drops it expectantly at their feet he sees little black paw prints stamped into the fuzz and realizes Joey must have bought it just for her.

 

“Shit, Joey,” Chris mutters, just as Joey tosses the ball into the yard.

 

Joey looks over at him. “What is it?”

 

“I didn’t-” Chris scrubs a hand through his hair.  “I didn’t mean to like, force this stray dog on you and make you fall in love with her and then just… just rip her out of your life like this!”

 

Joey looks at him for a moment, and then snickers.

 

“You can’t _laugh_!” Chris exclaims, irritatingly distraught. Prince Charming comes back with the ball, dropping it at Chris’s feet and wagging her tail. “Stop being so cute!” he demands. She fails to comply, nudging the ball a little with her nose when Chris doesn’t pick it up immediately.

 

Chris huffs, snatching the ball off the ground and flinging it to the far side of the yard. Prince Charming goes hurtling after it. He turns back to Joey, who’s _still_ laughing at him. “You too! This is serious.”

 

Joey nods. “I can tell you’re very serious.” He cocks his head at Chris and then wraps and arm around him to pull him close, hand coming up to the back of his neck. “It’s not the end of the world. Also I think you just called me cute.”

 

Chris deflates, turning his head away and resting his cheek on Joey’s shoulder, looking out into the yard. “Shut up.”

 

“Anyway,” Joey ignores Chris’s mandate and wraps his arms more securely around Chris’s shoulders. “The lady said she goes to that dog park a lot. That’s where they were when PC ran away.”

 

“We could go on spy missions,” Chris realizes, perking up a little at the thought.

 

Prince Charming seems to have abandoned fetch, lying on her stomach with the ball between her front paws, ripping at the fuzz with her teeth over and over again.

 

“Bring hot dogs and lure her away from her loving family for short periods of time,” Joey agrees, looking down and smiling just as Chris lifts his head.

 

Their lips are an inch apart, and Chris can all of a sudden hear his heartbeat in his ears.

 

And then he hears Darren’s voice in his ears, muffled through the glass door, but obviously directed at them as he clomps down the stairs, looking around.

 

“Guys? Hey guys?” He spots them through the door just as Chris covers his mouth and steps away.

 

“Are you serious,” Joey whispers desperately, turning as Darren slides the door open and raising his voice. “Are you _serious_?”

 

“What?” Darren’s eyes are wide and genuinely innocent. “I just wanted to know if we aware that there are naked people in the guest room. I heard snoring and I checked it out and _wow_ are they naked.”

 

“They’re still here?” Chris asks, dropping his hand from his mouth now that his smile is mostly gone. He’s honestly a little impressed.

 

“Make them leave,” Joey says, clearly exasperated.

 

“I can’t just _make_ them leave.”

 

“It’s your house; you kind of can,” Chris points out.

 

“But… it’s rude.” Darren shifts his shoulders uncomfortably.

 

“It’s rude to get personal lubricant all over someone else’s sheets during a party and then hide in their house for half a day without telling anyone.” Joey grabs Darren by the shoulders, bending down to look him in the eye. “They’re invaders. The enemy. They’ve taken over our guest room and they will continue to walk all over us if we don’t do anything to stop them. It’s up to you, my friend.”

 

Darren frowns, looking at him sadly. “Why is it up to _me_?”

 

“Because… I’m busy.”

 

Darren looks over to Chris, who raises his hands. “Not my house; not my problem.”

 

Darren turns back to Joey, visibly magnifying the intensity of his puppy eyes.

 

“No. Just go.” Joey lets go of Darren’s shoulders and waves his hand like he’s swatting away a fly. “Play your guitar outside the door really loudly until you hear them moving around, they’ll probably leave on their own once they wake up.”

 

Eyes squinting thoughtfully, Darren nods. “Yeah. I can do that.” He smiles, clapping Joey on the shoulder. “Hey, what are you busy with, anyway?”

 

“Secret things,” Joey says quickly. “Things you don’t need to know about yet.”

 

Darren raises an eyebrow, and Chris thinks the jig is up, until Darren opens his mouth. “You’re planning a surprise party for me, aren’t you?”

 

Chris shares a look with Joey, and then turns back to Darren. “Your birthday was months ago.”

 

Beaming, Darren taps his finger on the side of his nose before directing it at Chris. “That’s not a no,” he points out, and then leans forward conspiratorially. “Don’t worry; I’ll act completely shocked.” With that, he spins around and goes back inside, sliding the door shut behind him.

 

Chris and Joey remain silent for a moment, locking eyes via their dark, insubstantial reflections in the glass.

 

“He’s going to be spying on us, now,” Joey says after a while. “Trying to figure out what we’re doing for his party.”

 

Chris squints through the glass, and sure enough, he catches a glimpse of Darren’s curly head disappearing around banister. “We’re actually going to have to throw him a party, aren’t we?”

 

“He’ll sulk for months if we don’t.”

 

Chris laughs awkwardly and worms his hands into his pockets.

 

“Why don’t we just… hang out with the mutt, for now, okay?” Joey suggests.

 

As if realizing her cue, Prince Charming chooses that moment to bound up the steps. She sits down by the door and looks up at them.

 

“How am I gonna miss her so much?” Chris wonders out loud. “I haven’t even known her a whole weekend.”

 

Joey shrugs. “That’s like two weeks in dog years.”

 

*

 

They spend some time playing with the dog and halfheartedly picking up party debris from around the house, all to a soundtrack of Disney songs courtesy of Darren in the upstairs hallway.

 

After a little while, the couple from the guest room schleps down the stairs.

 

Joey and Chris hide in the kitchen, crouched behind the island, shushing each other and peering around to get glimpses of the disheveled hangover victims.

 

“Should I wash the sheets, or just burn them?” Joey asks, standing up and stretching once the front door shuts.

 

“Both, maybe,” Chris says, following Joey out into the hall to see where he’s going. The easy smile slips from his face as Joey removes a leash from one of a series of pegs by the front door.

 

Chris turns back and whistles, and Prince Charming wags her nub of a tail, nails clicking on the floor as she trots over. Scooping her up quickly, Chris buries his face in her side for a moment, and then rests her weight on one arm, scritching behind her ears as Joey clips the leash to the ring on her collar. Joey stays close, his shoulder bumping Chris’s as his fingers wriggle beneath Prince Charming’s collar and rub through the long, gray fur.

 

She pants happily at them, tongue lolling out and eyes slitted in pleasure.

 

“You ready to go home, girl?” Chris asks, bouncing her lightly.

 

She pants some more, licking the air in his direction but not willing to move away from Joey’s ministrations.

 

“I guess this is it,” Joey says softly, hand stilling as he looks over at Chris.

 

Chris nods, tilting his head up, gaze getting hung up on Joey’s lips for a second before it finds his eyes. “Guess so.” He turns, just the smallest amount, a shift of his hips but not his feet.

 

Joey takes a deep breath, halfway to a sigh, and leans down a fraction. “I really want to kiss you right now,” he whispers, telling it like a secret.

 

“You jinxed us.” A smile curls its way across Chris’s lips as he tilts his head back. “Wait for it.”

 

“Hey guys! Whoa.” Darren laughs, taking a step back after bounding into the hallway. “Am I interrupting something?”

 

“We were saying goodbye to the dog,” Chris explains, facing Darren. Joey sighs in resignation beside him.

 

“Oh, uh… Bye, dog.”

 

Prince Charming growls without lifting her head to look.

 

“You’re the best dog,” Chris coos at her, burying his fingers in the fur of her neck for a quick pet before he puts her down. “I’m gonna miss you.”

 

“We’ll walk really slowly,” Joey assures him, opening the door and tugging lightly on the leash, clicking his tongue until Prince Charming follows him out. “Bye, dude.”

 

“Bye!” Chris waves at Darren on his way out the door.

 

*

 

They do indeed walk slowly, brushing their fingers together with each swing of their arms and making small detours whenever Prince Charming feels the need to sniff at something.

 

Eventually, though, they reach the park, stopping just outside the entrance.

 

“So,” Joey says after a moment.

 

“This sucks,” Chris opines, eyeing the cheerful welcome sign dubiously.

 

Joey nods, and then his eyes widen, a worried look settling across his features. “I should take her collar off, so the lady doesn’t think I got overinvested in my temporary pet custodianship and want PC all for myself.”

 

“You did, though,” Chris points out, stooping low and picking Prince Charming up, who had been dancing anxiously around their feet. “You do.”

 

“She can’t know that. If she knows that she won’t let us dogsit.” Joey unclips the leash and stuffs it in the pocket of his hoodie, nervous fingers returning quickly to fumble the buckle of the collar open.

 

“We’re gonna dogsit?” Chris asks, shifting his grip so Joey can get the collar off.

 

“We have to play it cool. Make a good impression,” Joey says, gripping the collar tightly in both hands. He looks beseechingly at Chris, and Chris plucks the collar from his reluctant fists, handing the dog over.

 

“Well then we shouldn’t be late.” He folds the collar and tucks it in his front pocket, looking around at what he can see of the park. It’s relatively crowded, full of a wide assortment of people and dogs and colorful toys that fly and spin through the air. “Where are we supposed to meet her?”

 

Joey lowers Prince Charming to his chest, ending her enthusiastic face-licking, and squints at their surroundings. He nods in the direction of an oak tree near the middle of the park. Its branches are sprawling and gnarled, bright, new leaves only just beginning to dapple the crooked branches.

 

They start to walk towards it, and as they do, a woman moves to stand underneath it. She’s middle-aged, slightly worried looking, glancing around at the expanse of park in front of her, but not turning in their direction.

 

Prince Charming begins to wriggle in Joey’s grasp, giving an excited yip. He sets her down and she shoots off, covering the forty or so feet left between them and the woman in the blink of an eye.

 

Chris was fully prepared to resent her, at least a little, but the way her face lights up when she sees Prince Charming makes that impossible.

 

They keep walking, slower than before, watching the reunion unfold. Joey swerves, slowly, changing course so that their upper arms meet, pressed together from shoulder to elbow.

 

It’s nice to be close, but it’s actually a really uncomfortable way to walk, so Chris just links their elbows loosely, letting his fingers tickle Joey’s palm.

 

Joey grabs his hand and gives it a quick squeeze, whipping out a smile as the woman turns to them.

 

“Thank you _so_ much!” she gushes, lowering the dog back to the ground and stretching out an arm to shake their hands. “Joe, is it?”

 

Joey nods, and then Chris has to let go of Joey’s hand in order to shake the lady’s. She gives him a fleeting smile and turns back to Joey. Chris, unsure whether or not he should grab Joey’s hand again, just settles in closer next to him as he replies, looking down at the dog and letting their polite conversation wash over him.

 

“It’s not a problem. It was a pleasure, really. We loved having her.”

 

Prince Charming weaves in figure eights around the woman’s feet, pausing periodically to jump up on her hind legs and let out sharp, eager yaps.

 

“You’ve obviously taken good care of her. My daughter will be so relieved to have her back; she’s been a crying mess since Friday.”

 

The dog switches to Chris and Joey’s legs briefly, circling them and dancing on her back legs, pawing at Joey’s knees before doing the same thing to the woman.

 

“We’re glad we could help.”

 

“If there’s any way I can reimburse you and your… I’m sorry, but you look awfully familiar.”

 

Distracted by Prince Charming, Chris doesn’t realize she’s talking to him until Joey nudges him gently in the side.

 

“Hmm, what?” Chris looks up, blinking.

 

“Glee!” the woman cries, snapping her fingers.

 

Chris is immediately wary. He resists the urge to look around for people who might have overheard her exclamation, stepping closer to Joey.

 

The woman puts a hand on her chest and laughs warmly, if a little disbelievingly, putting Chris slightly at ease. “If my daughter knew who had her dog this weekend she probably wouldn’t even _mind_! She loves you!”

 

“Oh, well.” Chris laughs awkwardly. “I’m glad she likes the show.”

 

“The show? Oh no. She hardly even watches it anymore. She can’t stand your boyfriend.”

 

“I don’t have a…” Chris trails off, then shares a look with Joey. His voice creeps higher than he would prefer when he asks the question, “ _Blaine_? She hates Blaine?”

 

The woman nods, bending over to pick the dog up, presumably to prevent any further damage to her slacks. “She used to train this one here to bark and howl during his solos, even.” Scrubbing her hand over Prince Charming’s head and down her back, the woman turns back to Joey and Chris. “There are videos on youtube.”

 

“You don’t say,” Joey murmurs.

 

Chris feels a laugh low in his throat, but cuts it off before it can turn into a full-blown laughing fit. “That’s… amazing. I do believe I will look those up when I get home.” He smiles, swaying delightedly into Joey, who presses back firmly, one of his hands splaying across Chris’s lower back.

 

They talk for a couple minutes more, and it’s Chris who suggests their services as future dogsitters when Joey doesn’t seem like he’s going to mention it. The woman agrees readily, a smile on her face.

 

Joey takes a picture of them on the woman’s phone, Chris holding Prince Charming and grinning widely, as proof for the woman’s daughter. After that, when she and Chris are inspecting Joey’s instagram prowess, Joey snaps another photo on his own phone, of just Chris and the dog, that Chris pretends not to notice.

 

With the promise to get in touch should the need for a dogsitter ever arise, and a few more farewell pets and ear-scritches, they part ways.

 

Joey grabs Chris’s hand before they’re out of the park.

 

Chris feels, inexplicably, like humming. Instead, he turns with Joey onto the sidewalk and says, “I don’t even know her name.”

 

“The dog or the lady?”

 

“Either,” Chris admits. “But to be honest I’m only really curious about Prince Charming.”

 

“I don’t want to know,” Joey says, jiggling their hands absently as they wait at a street corner. “It’s probably something disappointing like Mitzy or Spot.”

 

Chris smiles, looking down at their joined hands and feeling a buoyant, fluttery sensation in his stomach. “Molly,” he supplies.

 

“Shadow.”

 

“ _Sparky,_ ” Chris lets the word drip like venom off his tongue.

 

Joey drops his head back and laughs quietly, letting Chris tug him off the curb when the light changes.

 

“I’m not as sad as I thought I’d be,” Chris muses, looking up from the sidewalk when Joey steers them off their path and through the parking lot of a corner store he hadn’t even noticed.

 

“Well, we can watch her barking at Darren whenever we want, which is a major plus.”

 

“True,” Chris says, doing a little half-skip maneuver to get to the door first, letting go of Joey’s hand as he opens it and gesturing grandly for him to go through first.

 

Rolling his eyes, Joey gives him a little bow as he steps over the threshold, and Chris follows with a grin.

 

A bell jingles over the door as it sweeps shut, making Chris strangely homesick as he observes the crowded rows of shelves crammed into the available floor space.

 

Joey heads towards the back wall and the refrigerated display cases that line it, obviously with something specific in mind.

 

Chris is content to browse.

 

He winds up on the far side of the register, ignoring the cashier’s bored gaze and focusing instead on the section of hygiene products and cleaning supplies that look like they were packaged in the seventies. He ghosts his fingers over the label on a can of Ajax and accidentally knocks his elbow into something propped up against the wall.

 

He grabs the broom before it can fall, thinking it’s something an employee forgot to put back after cleaning until he sees the peeling, yellowed sticker that reads _3.99_ stuck to the green aluminum handle. He runs a thumb over the dull yellow synthetic bristles and smiles to himself, turning to the register just as Joey sets a case of diet coke on the counter.

 

Their eyes meet over a rack of opaque plastic-covered magazines, and Chris feels something warm curl through his chest, making him smile.

 

The guy at the register hunts and pecks at the buttons until the drawer pops out with a ding.

 

“You’re seriously getting that?” Joey asks, paying for the coke as Chris sets the broom against his shoulder and stands behind him.

 

“I’m wooing,” Chris informs him, sliding his wallet out of his back pocket

 

“You’re wooing me with the prospect of future housework?” Joey looks at Chris with an eyebrow raised, holding his hand out as the cashier drops the change in his palm.

 

“If you don’t want it I can always give it to Darren.” Chris shrugs, setting broom and a five dollar bill down on the counter. “It’s not like he’d still make you use the little brush thing just to spite you. Oh, wait…”

 

Joey rolls his eyes and punches his fingers through the handhold in the top of the diet coke box, sliding it off the counter. “I’m sure it’s a wonderful broom, and I appreciate it.”

 

Chris nods, satisfied, and collects his change.

 

The cashier hands it over with judgment in his eyes. “It’s a really shitty broom, dude. I wouldn’t woo with this broom.”

 

“It’s only temporary,” Chris assures him. “I’m getting him a Swiffer for his birthday.”

“My birthday’s in July,” Joey says, his voice flat.

 

Chris picks the broom up off the counter and leans it in the crook of his shoulder again. “Then I’ve got plenty of time,” he says gravely, “to sweep you off your feet.”

 

He gets a solemn nod of respect from the cashier at that, but Joey shakes his head and turns around, although he doesn’t do it fast enough to hide his grin.

 

Chris jauntily salutes the cashier with the broom and follows Joey to the door, nodding graciously as Joey holds it open with his foot.

 

They walk the rest of the way in a comfortable silence, bumping shoulders occasionally and catching each other’s eyes more than once, always looking away after being discovered.

 

When they get back to the house, Chris tugs the box out of Joey’s hands so Joey can pat himself down in his search for his keys. Chris feels an odd sense of déjà vu as he waits on the top step.

 

Joey finally gets the door unlocked and shoulders it open, leaning against it so Chris has to brush by him to get inside. If Chris brushes a little closer than absolutely necessary, Joey doesn’t seem to mind.

 

Chris is about to ask where he should put the broom when Joey’s hands come up, one over his mouth and the other cradling the back of his neck, shocking him into silence.

 

“Shh,” Joey breathes. “Listen.”

 

Chris listens, absently noting that this time, Joey’s hand doesn’t smell at all like hotdogs. A soft, rhythmic noise soon becomes apparent. It sounds like… snoring? Chris looks at Joey, nodding to show he hears it, and Joey lets go, grabbing the cokes and the broom out of his hands. “Take your shoes off,” he whispers, sliding his own sneakers off and tiptoeing down the hallway. Chris follows cautiously after he sets his shoes out of the way, locating the source of the snores as Joey sets both items down carefully on the now cleared-off island in the kitchen.

 

Darren is slumped over on the couch with arms bent awkwardly in his lap, hands dangling between his knees and half his face smashed against an armrest.

 

Chris grins at the sight, and Joey grabs one of his hands, pulling him across the room to the stairs, giving the couch a wide berth.

 

They take the steps gingerly, managing to make it to the second floor without only one mild creaking incident, and quickly creep to Joey’s bedroom. Joey locks the door behind them and leans against it with a relieved sigh, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. “He is the _lightest_ sleeper,” he explains.

 

Chris nods, running his fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. He looks around, suddenly nervous.

 

“I’m sorry,” Joey groans, slumping against the door. “I should have brought you a coke. Or made a stealthy ninja lunch. Bread is pretty quiet. I could have made you something bread-based.”

 

“I’m fine,” Chris says, laughing softly. “I don’t need anything.”

 

“You sure?”

 

Nodding again, Chris blushes suddenly, for no reason, and tangles his fingers together in front of himself, looking down at his upturned palms. 

 

“You uh, you wanna sit down?” Joey asks.

 

Grateful for something to do, Chris glances behind him, backing up and dropping down to the mattress, looking up to see Joey pulling the desk chair out into the middle of the room. “Oh,” Chris says, a fresh blush burning across his face as he jumps up again, taking a jerky step forward just as Joey sees him and pushes the chair away again.

 

“No, that’s fine,” Joey says quickly. “Bed’s fine. Anything’s fine. Whatever you… wherever you want to sit.”

 

They stare at each other for a moment, and then Joey reaches out one long leg and pushes the chair farther away with his foot. “Bed’s fine,” he reiterates.

 

Chris laughs, suddenly and way too loud, and then slaps a hand across his mouth, eyes wide. His face is on _fire_.

 

Joey makes a noise somewhere in between a snort and a huff of laughter and steps in close, tugging on Chris’s wrist until Chris finally allows him to lower it.

 

“I’m not very good at being quiet,” Chris whispers. His neck is hot; so is his chest. He thinks his _hands_ might be blushing.

 

“I like that about you,” Joey murmurs, using his hold on Chris’s wrist to tug him closer, until their stomachs touch with every shaky inhale.

 

Joey strokes a thumb along his wrist.

 

Maybe Chris’s hands aren’t blushing. Maybe they’re just really sweaty. He blinks and looks into Joey’s eyes, seeing heat reflected there. Everything is so _hot_ ; Chris’s face, his neck, Joey’s breath against his lips, the liquid, tingling brightness that pools inside him and swirls around in the pit of his stomach. _This is it_ , he thinks, _finally_. He closes his eyes.

 

“Wait wait wait,” Joey urges, a palm pushing against Chris’s chest.

 

Chris falls back into his feet, Joey’s words like a bucket of cold water splashed over his face. “ _What_?” he croaks.

 

Joey’s hand drops from his chest. “Turn your phone off,” he says, digging his own out of his pocket.

 

Blinking dumbly for a moment, Chris finally makes sense of the words. “Oh.”

 

It makes sense, of course. They have a horrible track record. But it’s still kind of annoying that Joey sabotaged them himself this time. Chris digs his phone out and puts it on silent, leaning over and setting it on the bedside table. He clears his throat as he straightens up, wiping his clammy hands down the front of his shirt.

 

“Okay?” Joey asks.

 

“Yeah.” Chris nods.

 

“You sure?”

 

Chris nods again, “Ye- _mmmph_!”

 

Chris generally thinks of lips as soft things. Sometimes wet, sometimes dry, but always fairly yielding, resilient but moldable, sealing easily against another pair of lips or dipping slightly under the swipe of a tongue.

 

Joey’s lips are not soft.

 

Not at first, anyway.

 

Chris sways back with the force of Joey’s lips against his, securing his arms around Joey’s shoulders to keep his balance against the momentum of the bruising kiss. Tilting his head, Chris opens his mouth and yields to the demanding pressure, fitting their lips together and moaning into Joey’s mouth when he feels two wide, hot hands stroke up his sides and around to his back.

 

Joey pulls them flush together, crossing his arms over each other behind Chris’s back and squeezing.

 

Chris’s back pops.

 

All of a sudden, instead of losing himself in a kiss, Chris is laughing against Joey’s smiling lips.

 

“Hi.” Joey grins, pushing kisses along the bottom edge of Chris’s upper lip, half on his lip and half on his teeth.

 

Scrunching his nose up, Chris dodges a peck and catches Joey’s lower lip between his, giving it a gentle nip followed by a short, smacking kiss. He leans back a little, until he can meet Joey’s gaze without going cross-eyed. “Hey.”

 

“Sorry about the whole… smashing your lips thing. I got a little carried away.”

 

“It’s okay,” Chris assures him, hitching his arms up farther until they rest on Joey’s shoulders. “It’s _good_.”

 

“Yeah?” Joey loosens his hold on Chris, sliding his hands around until they’re resting on Chris’s hips. He ducks his head lower, smile lingering at the corners of his mouth. “You wouldn’t be opposed to doing it again?”

 

Chris pretends to think about it, and then shrugs. “Eh.”

 

Joey gives an insulted huff and tries to step back, but Chris just grins and locks his forearms together, trapping Joey and pulling him close.

 

Chris takes his time worrying Joey’s lower lip, nibbling at it, soothing the bite of his teeth with small swipes of his tongue. He lets Joey urge his mouth open and fits their lips together, sucking on Joey’s tongue when it probes against his; wet, slippery, kind of gross but mostly awesome. He strokes through Joey’s hair, working the soft strands between his fingers as Joey’s thumbs rub up and down the grooves of his hipbones.

 

Pushing up on his toes, Chris rocks closer and scrapes his nails against Joey’s scalp, tugging at his hair to position him better. They stumble before he can take advantage of the new angle, Chris unprepared to support the extra weight of Joey falling against him without warning. He catches them, though, barely, grabs Joey tight and takes a step back, opening his eyes as Joey gives a shuddering, winded laugh.

 

“We’re gonna have to sit down if you wanna keep playing with my hair,” Joey breathes, finding his feet again. He tightens his hold on Chris, squeezing his hips and giving him a searching, cautiously hopeful look.

 

Mouth open to catch his breath easier, Chris feels himself smile. He grips Joey’s shoulders and tugs them both around, tipping them over until they fall with a bounce onto the mattress.

 

“Or, we could lay down,” Joey says haltingly, petting his hands across Chris’s back as Chris rolls them close together, resting half on top of Joey’s chest. “Lying down is… good.”

 

“Mmm,” Chris agrees, sliding their lips together once more as he tangles his fingers back into Joey’s hair, pulling on it deliberately and feeling his stomach flip when Joey groans into his mouth. He yanks harder, and Joey arches up underneath him, letting out a choked-off shout. “Shh,” Chris laughs against his lips, following close as Joey relaxes back to the mattress. “Sorry,” Chris murmurs, stroking Joey’s hair soothingly and pressing soft kisses against the corner of Joey’s mouth as he gulps in deep breaths.

 

“Not fair,” Joey says eventually.

 

He kisses back, though, when Chris tries to mouth his pout away, so he can’t be too upset.

 

Chris doesn’t yank that hard on Joey’s hair again, but he keeps his fingers buried in it, tugging gently every once in a while just to hear the hitch in Joey’s breathing. The kiss gets hotter and wetter as it goes on, tongues slipping against each other and teeth scraping lips, hungry and a little desperate. Unwilling to part, they breathe harshly through their noses, sucking and biting and tilting their heads one way or another. Joey’s hands begin to wander, rubbing restlessly across Chris’s back, up to his shoulder blades and then down to his ass, the outsides of his thighs, and then the insides. He tugs one of Chris’s legs up until Chris is lying even further on top of him.

 

Chris shifts his weight until his thigh slips down between Joey’s, pushing himself to his knees and rocking down as he presses his tongue into Joey’s mouth.

 

The friction makes Joey cry out, holding Chris down tight against him and finally breaking the kiss with a gasp.

 

Chris settles there, tucks his cheek against the side of Joey’s jaw and feels him, hard and hot against his hip, panting humidly into his ear, each gust of air sending shivers down Chris’s spine.

 

“Time…” Joey says breathlessly. “Time for a break. Break time.” He eases the pressure of his hands on Chris’s back, allowing him the space to move away.

 

Chris stays where his is. “Break time sounds stupid,” he mutters against Joey’s neck.

 

Joey exhales a laugh, his chest jumping beneath Chris’s, and pets sloppily at the nape of Chris’s neck. “I’m just- I’m having a little trouble thinking.”

 

“Thinking is stupid too,” Chris says, nipping a kiss into Joey’s jaw and then rolling over with a sigh, letting his hands fall to his stomach.

 

Joey slips his arm out from under Chris and tugs his hoodie off, tossing it behind him without looking and then echoing Chris’s position on the bed. They stare at the ceiling until their breathing dwindles back down to normal and the ache in Chris’s hips is no longer so urgent.

 

“So, uh,” Joey says after an audible swallow. “That was nice.”

 

Chris hums his agreement, stretching his legs out straight and rotating his ankles where they hang over the edge of the bed.

 

Joey rolls onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow and reaching out a hand. It hovers over Chris’s chest for a moment, before touching down over his heart and sliding up, gliding over his collarbone and around to the side of his neck. Chris turns to face Joey, eyelids fluttering briefly at the feeling of Joey’s thumb stroking up his jaw and just under his ear.

 

“Is break time over yet?” Chris asks softly, raising his eyebrows at the smile Joey gives him.

 

“No more…” Joey clears his throat, clearly embarrassed, and Chris feels his eyes crinkle up with the grin it puts on his face. “ _Thrusting_. Okay?”

 

“Booo,” Chris says, stretching up to kiss Joey anyway.

 

Joey huffs against Chris’s lips. “Do you _want_ me to come in my pants?”

 

Grinning, Chris lays back down flat and tucks his hands behind his head. He shrugs. “I’m not opposed to the idea, but if you’re worried about your pants you could always just take them off.”

 

Joey blinks at him.

 

After a moment, Chris feels the smile slide off his face. “Unless we’re taking it slow?”

 

Joey doesn’t move, but breathes in heavily through his nose, nostrils flaring.

 

Chris’s eyes widen and he turns away. “Oh god. You totally held my hand. Like a lot. And you wooed me. You’re like this giant, sweet…” He sits up as he struggles to find a word, scooting away from Joey. “ _Gentleman_ ,” he finally decides on, staring down at his socked feet and the carpet that surrounds them, realization roiling in his gut. “And I’m just a gross pervert trying to have sex with you before you’re ready.” He drops his head into his hands with a groan.

 

“Um,” Joey says behind him. “No.”

 

Chris blinks against his fingers, and then Joey’s hands are tugging at his wrists. He looks over as his hands are lowered.

 

Joey shakes his head. “Seriously, just... _Wrong_.”

 

“What?” Chris asks as Joey moves to sit beside him.

 

“I thought _you_ were a gentleman,” Joey explains, stroking his fingers up Chris’s arms.

 

“Oh _god_ no,” Chris breathes.

 

“I thought you’d want dates first,” Joey confesses, sliding closer and stroking his hands over Chris’s shoulders and down his sides. “Or for me to pass a best friend inspection or something.”

 

Shaking his head, Chris cups Joey’s cheeks and draws him close. “Not necessary.” Ashley can just deal with it.

 

“Well then,” Joey sighs, closing his eyes briefly as Chris plants a slow, firm kiss against his lips before letting him go. Sitting back, Joey looks at Chris seriously. “You should probably take off your pants, you hussy.”

 

Chris laughs, flopping back on the bed and grinning up at Joey when he follows, leaning over Chris and bending low to nuzzle under his jaw. Lifting his chin up to give Joey better access, Chris lets out a small groan and clamps his hand down on the back of Joey’s neck. Lips and teeth and tongue work carefully, across his throat and up, behind his ear, drawing out warm sparks of sensation that seem to sink into his skin. Chris shivers and fists his hand in the hair at the back of Joey’s neck, squeezing tight and eliciting a moan he can feel against his skin.

 

“Kiss me,” Chris demands, voice high and breathless.

 

Joey kisses him, deep and slow, and Chris uses the hand not clenched in Joey’s hair to slide up under his shirt, tracing along his stomach and then around to the warm expanse of his back, trying to press him closer.

 

Joey leans back and breaks the kiss, straightening up on his knees and forcing Chris to let go of him. Before Chris can formulate a protest, though, Joey yanks his shirt off over his head.

 

Chris watches the play of Joey’s skin over shifting bones and muscle with wide eyes, and then scrambles to tug at his own shirt, curling up to pull it over his head and shoulders and dropping it onto the floor. When his hands reach down for the hem of his undershirt, Joey’s are already there, plucking and tugging it out of his waistband and pushing it up his stomach. Letting out a shuddering breath, Chris pets his fingers through Joey’s hair and down his shoulders, trying not to cry out as Joey’s mouth trails up his torso, warm and wet and dragging maddeningly over each new inch of exposed skin.

 

“ _Joey_ ,” Chris whines, arching into Joey’s teeth when they close around one of his nipples.

 

Joey sucks, hard, working the sensitive flesh with his tongue and his lips and leaving it throbbing with a bright, tender ache when he finally brings his mouth away. He grins at Chris, who can’t do much more than breathe heavily back, and works the bunched up fabric of Chris’s shirt over his head, sliding it off his arms and tossing it behind them.

 

Twisting his fingers back into Joey’s hair, Chris pulls him down and clamps their mouths together, swallowing the helpless sounds that spill from Joey’s throat. He wraps one of his legs around Joey’s ass, drawing him down and over, not letting up pressure until Joey is stretched out above him, not quite touching.

 

“C’mon,” Chris urges, breathing hotly against Joey’s mouth, his cheek, his chin. He arches his hips up, biting at Joey’s bottom lip. “C’mon.”

 

“Pushy,” Joey murmurs, settling down with his elbows pushing into the mattress on either side of Chris.

 

“You like it,” Chris says, pumping his hips up again now that Joey’s closer and sucking in a breath through his teeth when they slide together briefly.

 

“ _Shit_. Yeah, I do,” Joey agrees. He blows out a thin breath, long and deliberate, and locks his eyes with Chris’s as he rocks his hips down.

 

They groan in tandem, and Chris can’t even mind the way his pants are too tight because that’s Joey’s _dick_ , pressed hard against his own. He clamps his thighs around Joey’s hips, just to make sure he doesn’t go anywhere, and rolls his body up again, breathing harshly into Joey’s mouth.

 

“Fuck,” Joey pants, shoving down hard against him.

 

Chris wraps his arms around Joey’s shoulders, pulling until their chests slide together with each thrust and his lips are grazing the shell of Joey’s ear. “You feel so good,” he groans, eyes rolling back as his dick twitches in his pants. “You feel- you feel-”

 

“I feel like I’m gonna come in my pants,” Joey breathes, making Chris wrap himself tighter around Joey, giggling helplessly.

 

Each hitch of laughter sends a shock up through his dick and into the base of his spine. “I’d tell you to take them off, but I don’t want you to move.”

 

“It’ll just take a second,” Joey assures him, mouthing across his neck and under his jaw. “I’ll do yours too.”

 

Chris lets out a heavy sigh and forces his limbs to relax. They flop to the mattress just as Joey presses a sloppy kiss against Chris’s chin. He sits back on his knees, fingers moving clumsily to his fly, and Chris pushes himself up on his elbows to watch. If he can’t have Joey’s dick pressed against his, he supposes, this endearingly fumbly strip tease is an adequate consolation prize.

 

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Joey mumbles, shoving his jeans down his hips. He’s wearing snug black boxer briefs, the soft cotton tenting out along the curving line of his cock.

 

Chris licks his lips and shrugs, lying back down flat but keeping his eyes on Joey. “You. Duh.” He grins when Joey’s cheeks and upper chest flush with color, and slides his hands to his fly, flicking the button open with a sigh of relief.

 

“Hey,” Joey says, batting Chris’s hands away. “I said I was gonna and I’m gonna.”

 

Chris lifts his hands up palms out. “Okay, okay.” He stretches his arms over his head and arches his back, sighing blissfully and then moaning a little when Joey’s knuckles drag and slowly down his cock, pulling the zipper open tooth by tooth. “Tease,” Chris says, smiling and lifting his hips when Joey tugs his jeans down. Joey slides them over Chris’s feet, taking the socks with them and dropping them all to the floor. Then he kicks his own jeans all the way off, settling back down and looking at Chris.

 

They stay that way for a moment, Joey kneeling at the edge of the bed and Chris laying down the wrong way across it, staring at each other.

 

Finally, needing to say something but not knowing what, Chris opens his mouth and for some reason lets, “I like your underwear,” come out of it.

 

Joey grins.

 

Chris covers his hands with his eyes, groaning at himself.

 

“No.” The bed shifts. Joey’s voice gets closer. “Come on, put your hands down.” Joey tugs at his wrists and Chris drops them down to his stomach without much resistance, biting both his lips together and blinking at Joey.

 

“What do you want?” Joey asks, leaning over to kiss Chris’s cheek, the corner of his mouth.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Joey runs the backs of his nails through the short hair at Chris’s temple and kisses him again. “What do you want to do? _Me_ to do? Anything you want.”

 

“You don’t have to woo me anymore, you know,” Chris breathes, letting Joey lick his lips apart and delve between them briefly, moving back with an exaggerated _mwah_ sound. “I’m wooed.”

 

“Wooing is never complete,” Joey informs him. “Which is a good thing because so far all you’ve done is buy me the shittiest broom in existence and pull my hair.”

 

“It’s a work in progress,” Chris insists, reaching up to yank at one of Joey’s disheveled locks. “And you like that second one, don’t even lie.”

 

“I really do,” Joey agrees after a shudder wracks through him, his voice a little weaker than before. “Now tell me what _you_ like.”

 

Joey’s forearm is a warm, solid weight across Chris’s collar bone, the heel of his hand resting against the side of Chris’s jaw. Chris turns away from Joey to nuzzle into his palm. He knows exactly what he wants. “Your hands,” he says, grabbing Joey’s hand and pressing a kiss to one of the creases in his palm before moving it down. He holds it against himself once it’s fanned out across his chest, turning to peer at Joey, who’s watching him curiously. “They’re just… really big. And warm.” He kisses Joey’s slack lips and then whispers against them, close enough that Joey can’t see his blush. “I like it when you touch me.”

 

“Come here,” Joey says after a moment, sliding his hand away from Chris’s chest and scooting up towards the headboard. Chris watches him rearrange the pillows and then sit down against them, legs open in a wide V and hands gesturing for Chris to join him.

 

Chris crawls up and kneels between Joey’s spread thighs, hands resting on his shoulders as he bends down to kiss him. He can feel Joey smile against his lips.

 

“Turn around.”

 

There’s pressure on his hips, Joey’s hands, pushing and pulling and urging him around and then down, until he’s sitting between Joey’s legs, surrounded by him. Joey’s hands press flat against his stomach, moving him closer as Joey shifts behind him, and then Chris can feel Joey, hard against the small of his back.

 

“Okay?” Joey asks, his lips soft and fleeting against the back of Chris’s ear. His fingers curl and scratch gently across Chris’s stomach, dancing up to his ribs to his chest, scrubbing across the still-tender nipple he’d played with earlier, and then down, until his nails are tracing the waistband of Chris’s briefs.

 

“Yeah,” Chris sighs as Joey’s fingertips slide lower, tickling the insides of his thighs and then scratching back up over them, moving around to push through the sparse hair along the tops of his legs. The feel of calloused fingers on his skin is shivery and hot and surprisingly intimate, and Chris swallows down the lump in his throat, opening himself to it. He lets his head fall back against Joey’s shoulder, shuddering a little when Joey sets his open mouth against Chris’s neck. “Please,” he whispers, swallowing dryly against the stretch of his throat.

 

Joey hums against his neck, squeezing his thighs and then slipping his hands back up.

 

Chris’s breath catches in his chest when Joey’s fingers push beneath elastic, finally wrap around him. “Oooh, fuck.”  
Joey’s grip is tight, fingers tightening and relaxing in a rolling shift of pressure, the knuckle of his index finger rubbing too-firmly beneath the head of Chris’s dick. It’s… amazing. Devastating. Chris can’t really breathe, caught helplessly between _too much_ and _god please more_. He squirms. Joey’s other arm wraps around his waist, holding him close as his hips work in tight, involuntary thrusts.

 

“This what you want?” Joey asks, his voice rougher than Chris has heard it before.

 

Nodding, unwilling to risk trying to talk, Chris wraps his arm around Joey’s, lacing their fingers together where Joey’s hand is clamped around his side. He needs Joey to keep holding him down, keep him focused and close and unable to struggle free.

 

It all blurs together; the stark, overwhelming press and rub of Joey’s hand, the feel of his hot skin plastered across Chris’s back, the heavy bar of his arm keeping Chris held firm, and the searing reminder of Joey’s cock as it pushes against him anew with every frantic jerk of Chris’s hips. Chris drapes his free arm back, craning his neck around and guiding Joey’s lips to his, doing his best to muffle his whimpers in the hot dampness of Joey’s mouth.

 

There’s a piercing throb building steadily in the pit of his stomach, but it’s too high, and too sharp. He squeezes his eyes shut and turns his head, sucking in breaths and trying to stop the trembling in his stomach that’s shaking out into the rest of him. “Joey,” he whines, moving his hand from Joey’s neck down to Joey’s hand, the one that’s wrapped so tight and hot around him.

 

Joey’s grip instantly lessens, and the knife edge of pleasure-pain is blinked out like a light, leaving Chris hollow and boneless, slumped back against Joey and thrumming with the echoes of too much sensation.

 

“Sorry,” Joey says softly in his ear, nuzzling down into the crook of his neck. He readjusts his grip under Chris’s hand, working his fist gradually along the length of Chris’s dick and back down again. “Okay?”

 

Chris nods dumbly, urging Joey to go a little faster and letting his eyes flutter open to watch. He lets go of Joey’s hand to work the dark blue cotton of his briefs down, groaning when he sees Joey’s fingers wrapped around him.

 

It’s entrancing; the slow, twisting glide of his hand, the angle of his wrist, the rub of his thumb over Chris’s slit on the upstroke.

 

“Shit,” Chris hisses, pushing his heels into the mattress, shoving back against Joey’s chest and then thrusting into his hand. The heat is back, building up again, low and dark inside him and just right this time, coiling tighter with every hitch of his breath, with every pump of Joey’s fist. “Keep going,” he breathes, dropping both his hands to grab at Joey’s thighs, holding tighter than he should. Arms locking straight and stiff, he’s lifted off the mattress as his hips work sharply. “Keep- _huh_ , keep going. Right, right there, keep- Fuck, _Joey_!”

 

He thinks he feels Joey smile against his neck, but then again he could have sworn he saw the lights flicker before his eyes rolled back into his head, and when he comes back he’s staring at the ceiling, where the light isn’t even on. His head lolls on Joey’s shoulder.

 

Throat clicking with a dry swallow, Chris revels in the heavy looseness of his limbs. “Damn.”

 

“That was cool,” Joey tells him. His chin is hooked over Chris’s shoulder and his hands haven’t really moved, but they’re petting and kneading Chris’s still-tingling skin where they lay. “It went everywhere.”

 

Chris works up the willpower to engage the muscles in his neck, looking down to find that it really did go everywhere. His come is spattered halfway up his chest, across Joey’s arm and dribbling thickly over his knuckles where his hand is still wrapped around Chris’s spent dick. “Huh.”

 

Joey laughs softly and shifts behind him, drawing them further down the bed and depositing Chris against the pillows, sliding out from under him. He kisses Chris’s forehead, his cheeks, the dip above his top lip. Chris chases after Joey’s lips, trying for a real kiss, but isn’t quick enough to manage it. His lets his head flop back to the pillows with a sigh.

 

Joey scoots back, fingers tugging at Chris’s briefs where they’re tangled around his thighs. “Want me to take these off?”

 

Chris lifts his hips off the bed as an answer, his knees still embarrassingly shaky.

 

Joey slides the underwear off his legs, and then proceeds to wipe the come off his hand and arm with them.

 

“You fucker!” Chris exclaims, shoving at Joey’s thighs with his feet.

 

Leaning forward with a grin, Joey swipes the mess off Chris’s stomach and chest, too, and bends down for a kiss, which Chris seriously thinks about not returning. Almost.

 

“You’re a dick,” Chris whispers, turning over to face him when Joey settles down by his side.

 

“A whole dick? Or just like, half a dick?”

 

Shifting closer, Chris rubs his hip against Joey, feeling his cock twitch with interest. “One. Whole. Dick.” He kisses Joey’s nose and then wiggles down the bed, licking and biting his way down Joey’s chest and stomach and cupping Joey through his underwear. Dipping his tongue into Joey’s navel, he presses the heel of his hand against the base of Joey’s cock, smiling when Joey jerks against him, curling up and then flopping back to the mattress with a grunt.

 

Joey’s cock is fully hard by the time Chris frees it from his boxer briefs. It slaps against his belly, flushed and pretty and curving a little near the tip in the same direction his jaw does.

 

“Oh my god,” Chris coos, tracing a fingertip down the length of it.

 

“Did you just baby talk my erection?” Joey asks, incredulity clear even in his breathlessness as he kicks his underwear all the way off.

 

“No?” Chris lies, running his palm up Joey’s cock and then wrapping his fingers around it. He looks up and sees Joey staring down at him, a half strained, half skeptical look on his face. Time for a distraction.

 

He keeps his eyes locked on Joey’s and presses a wet, sucking kiss against the very tip of his cock. Joey’s fingers tangle into his hair when he slips his lips over the head, hollowing his cheeks and humming pleasantly.

 

Joey groans, head falling back and shoving into the pillows as Chris settles in between his legs. Chris watches the way his neck strains for a moment, and then gets down to business. He learns the veins of Joey’s cock with his tongue, feels the way it bumps into the back of his throat, the way it twitches in his mouth when he swallows around it.

 

He lets Joey thrust into his mouth; short, aborted rolls of his hips that ripple up into his abdomen. Chris sets one hand against Joey’s stomach just to feel the muscles work beneath the skin, circling the base of Joey’s dick with his other hand and working his mouth up and down. Joey’s hands fist in his hair, not pulling, but holding on tight, and Chris slurps off briefly, wiping at his chin before bending back down to rub his wet lips over the shiny red head of Joey’s cock.

 

He’s flicking the tip of his tongue delicately at Joey’s slit when Darren thumps into the door.

 

“No,” Joey babbles quietly, clearly horrified. “No no no.” His fingers shift restlessly in Chris’s hair as Chris buries his face in the crease between Joey’s thigh and his dick, trying and failing to muffle his laughter.

 

The door handle jiggles again, and then Darren gives a loud knock. “ _Dude, why’s your door locked?_ ”

 

“This isn’t happening,” Joey utters, mortified, his voice thready and high. Chris gives a few consoling pumps with his hand and turns his face, kissing his giggles into the base of Joey’s dick.

 

“ _Are you seriously jacking off? It’s barely even lunchtime._ ”

 

“I’m not jacking off!” Joey calls, although the way his voice breaks makes Chris fear for his believability.

 

“ _You only ever lock your door when your dick’s out, dude; don’t even try to deny it_.”

 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Joey whines. Chris looks up, hand pumping lazily, and sees Joey sling a forearm across his eyes, his other hand still caught in Chris’s hair.

 

Feeling merciful after his own rather fantastic orgasm, Chris presses a kiss against the crookedest part of Joey’s dick and then angles his face towards the door. “Just ‘cause he’s got his dick out doesn’t mean he’s jacking off!”

 

His declaration is greeted with silence, and after a few moments he shrugs and turns back to Joey’s dick, sucking hard on the head just to hear Joey moan.

 

The moan seems to restart Darren’s inherent need to cockblock, as his gasp is clearly audible through the locked door.

 

“ _Oh my god. You guys are totally doing it. Oh my **god**_!”

 

“For fuck’s sake, Darren, go away!” Joey shouts, his hips flexing up as Chris hums in approval.

 

“ _I’m… Sorry! Yeah. I’m gonna go, uh, for a walk, okay? I’ll be gone… How long do I need to be gone for? Or are you guys_ -”

 

“Forever!”

 

The desperation in Joey’s voice makes Chris slide off the cock in his mouth, turning to sink his silent laughter into Joey’s twitching thigh.

 

“You need to go away _forever_ , because you are a terrible person and I _hate_ you!”

 

“ _You don’t mean that_.”

 

Shaking uncontrollably with laughter, Chris rolls his forehead against Joey’s thigh and pets his hands soothingly down Joey’s sides. “Just go get us all lunch, okay?” he calls through the door. “Drive to somewhere reasonably far away and get us lunch, and by the time you get back Joey will no longer hate you. I promise.”

 

“That’s a lie,” Joey informs Chris in a whisper, fingers stroking behind his ear, soft where his voice is unforgiving. “I will hate him always.”

 

“… _Okay_ ,” Darren agrees uncertainly.

 

Chris and Joey both go still, listening intently for any sign of movement of further communication.

 

When nothing seems forthcoming, Chris turns to nuzzle at the base of Joey’s dick.

 

Joey sighs, shifting his hips up and then dropping them back down, starting a hesitant rhythm.

 

“ _So did you guys want, like, Chinese, or_ -”

 

“Go away!” they chorus, Joey punctuating his yell by hastily snatching a book off the bedside table and throwing it at the door.

 

“ _Fine, jeeze! I’m going_!”

 

They actually hear him stomp down the hallway this time, and Joey collapses against the mattress, sighing in relief. Biting his bottom lip, Chris grins, sweeping his gaze along the stretched-out length of him. He walks two of his fingers across Joey’s thigh and then wraps his hand around Joey’s mostly hard dick, feeling it firm up in his grip, the soft, velvety skin still tacky from his saliva.

 

“I’m gonna try something, okay?” he murmurs, ducking low to lick along a prominent vein.

 

“God,” Joey breathes, hips squirming. “Whatever you want, okay? Just-” He jerks in Chris’s grasp, sighing. “Anything.”

 

Chris hums happily and starts to run his mouth up and down the length of Joey’s dick, slicking it up as much as he can. He leans back with a frown, glancing up at Joey, who’s watching him with a slack look on his face. “This might work better with lube.”

 

“What?”

 

“ _Lube_ ,” Chris reiterates, shoving lightly at Joey’s thigh.

 

“Oh. Oh! Right.” He turns and fumbles the top drawer of the nightstand open, rummaging around in it. He pauses, frowning, and yanks it all the way open, sweeping across the contents with his hand. “No fucking way.”

 

“What?”

 

“Those _assholes_.” Joey withdraws his hand, and to Chris’s relief he’s holding a small bottle.

 

“Who’s an asshole?”

 

“Those lubey motherfuckers from the guestroom, they totally jacked the good stuff.” Chris laughs as Joey sits up, handing over the brightly-labeled bottle with his lips in a tight pout. “It says it tastes like cherries but it mostly tastes like cough syrup.”

 

“I wasn’t gonna taste it,” Chris smiles, clicking the cap open and blinking at the cloying scent. “Potent,” he says, when Joey raises his eyebrows. Stretching forward, he pulls Joey in by his hair and plants a kiss against his lips before pushing him away again. “Now lay back down.”

 

Joey bounces back against the mattress with a grin, tucking his hands behind his head.

 

Pouring a generous amount in his palm, Chris allows it to warm up slightly, before slicking it over Joey’s cock, feeling a twinge of interest in his own dick at Joey’s sharp inhale. He steadies himself with his dry hand splayed on Joey’s chest, crawling up and straddling Joey, settling down with his knees on either side of Joey’s hips. He rocks experimentally, his ass sliding slickly over Joey’s cock, making them both groan.

 

Joey grabs the hand Chris still has pressed to his chest, his fingers sliding up and kneading at Chris’s wrist, up his forearm, rubbing restlessly wherever his hands go. His eyes are wide and caught on Chris’s as Chris strikes up a leisurely rhythm, sliding back and forth along Joey’s cock.

 

Leaning back and grabbing his slowly hardening dick with his slick hand, Chris settles more weight on his knees and puts more effort into his movements, tensing the muscles of his ass with every rolling push forward.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Joey grunts, clapping his hands down on Chris’s thighs and shoving up against him.

 

“Yeah,” Chris breathes, swiveling his hips a little and jacking himself lazily.

 

Joey makes a sort of gurgling noise, his hands sliding up from Chris’s thighs to his hips, and Chris drops his head back as he quickens his pace. “Hold on to me,” he instructs, closing his eyes. Joey keeps his balance as Chris rides faster, harder, a bounce in the roll of his hips as his hand speeds up to match it. The sweet cherry glide of skin on skin is heady, overwhelming, and it takes Chris a minute to recognize Joey calling his name.

 

“Kiss me. _Chris_ , fuck! Kiss me.”

 

Chris looks down, takes in Joey’s flushed cheeks and his heaving chest, and leans forward, working his dick until there’s not enough room between them, then slipping his hands out and sliding them beneath the small of Joey’s back. His lips graze Joey’s as he shifts his hips back, lining their cocks up together and pressing close. They don’t wind up kissing so much as gasping into each other’s mouths.

 

Joey’s hands slide around to Chris’s ass, spreading him and tugging him closer, fingers sliding through slickness. Joey goes still for a split second and then groans, thrusting up.

 

Chris lets out breathy grunts in time with the smooth shocks of pleasure and fucks hard against Joey, hips working sharp and fast, the occasional clap of wet skin against wet skin echoing in the room. Dropping his head, Chris mouths at Joey’s collarbone, the damp salty skin there at strange and dizzying odds with the sugared scent in the humid air.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Joey grits out, his movements becoming more erratic. Chris works his way up Joey’s neck, kissing past the sweaty dip of his throat and grinding his hips down as he licks past Joey’s lips to his clenched teeth.

 

“C’mon,” he entices, slipping one hand up to comb through Joey’s hair, fingers catching on sweaty tangles.

 

Sobbing out something that sounds like Chris’s name and arching up, Joey lifts them both off the bed, his dick pulsing against Chris’s slick-hot skin.

 

Chris strokes his hair and scrapes his teeth across his jaw, waiting until Joey drops them back to the bed and relaxes his bruising grip before sitting up and fisting his own cock. He keeps working his hips, sliding along Joey’s twitching dick while fucking into his fist.

 

Breathing harshly, chest heaving, Joey blinks open heavily lidded eyes and trains them on the blur of Chris’s fist. Clumsy hands trail up Chris’s ass to his waist, anchoring him.

 

“Lemme see,” Joey says thickly, pressing his thumbs into Chris’s skin and licking his lips.  “Wanna see, c’mon.”

 

Swallowing, Chris nods, curling his fist over the head of his dick, working it slick and fast. Joey smiles at him, slow and lazy and perfect, strands of hair stuck to his face and a flush to his skin that goes half way down his chest.

 

Chris chokes out a sound that was supposed to be Joey’s name, stomach flipping and heart pounding as he spills over his fist. He slumps over, gasping, come dripping slowly onto Joey’s already messy stomach.

 

Joey wraps his arms around Chris, pulling and rearranging until Chris is lying half on top of him, arms trapped between them and lungs still trying to suck in enough air to stop his dizziness.

 

“That was nice,” Joey sighs, snuggling close and wrapping a leg around Chris’s thighs.

 

It’s far too hot in the room for them to be so close. Chris wriggles an arm out from between them and wraps it around Joey’s waist. Swirling patterns across Joey’s back with his fingers, Chris settles his head on Joey’s shoulder and nods. “Super nice.”

 

“Do you have a roommate?” Joey asks.

 

“No, I have fish,” Chris says softly.

 

“Next time let’s do it at your place.”

 

Chris grins, rolling close and hiding his face in Joey’s neck. “Kay,” he murmurs against the salty skin there. He’s running Joey’s words back through his head, well, mostly just the ‘next time’ part, when his eyes slam open. He sits up straight and looks down at Joey, who peers bewilderedly back. “How long has it been? Since Darren left?”

 

Joey groans, burying his face in a pillow briefly before using his hold on Chris’s waist to pull himself up. “He’s gonna want to bond with us and ask awkward questions while our dicks smell like Theraflu.”

 

“Could be worse,” Chris says, looking down at their messy tangle of limbs. They really are filthy. “We could smell like Dimetapp.”

 

“Take a shower with me,” Joey says, nuzzling into his neck.

 

Chris shivers, half from Joey’s voice against his neck and half from the cooling sweat on the rest of him. “’Kay.”

 

*

 

They spend longer than they should and shorter than Chris thought they would in the shower. Joey spends an abnormal amount of time conditioning his hair and almost as long convincing Chris to let him “wash his back,” which seems to mostly be an excuse to grab Chris’s ass while it’s soapy.

 

When confronted with Chris’s suspicions, Joey informs him that butts are just better when they’re slippery.

 

After extensive research of his own, Chris agrees.

 

They’re just beginning to dry off when they hear the front door slam.

 

Chris steals the only clean big towel and wraps it around his waist, escaping Joey’s grasp and skidding into the hallway, racing towards Joey’s room just as Darren calls up from the bottom of the stairs.

 

“Guys?”

 

“Be down in a minute!” Joey calls, and Chris turns to see him shuffling sideways down the hall while holding a hand towel over his crotch. He glares at Chris and Chris ducks into the room with a laugh.

 

Eying their clothes, which are strewn across the floor and a few pieces of furniture, Chris sucks contemplatively on his lower lip. Joey bumps into him a moment later, tugging the towel from his waist and dropping it over his head.

 

“Jerk.”

 

“What?” Chris asks, pulling it off and looking back with a smile. “It wasn’t like we could share it. Anyway, you owe me.” He tosses the towel at Joey’s face and reaches down for his jeans, stepping into them one leg at a time and then wiggling them up his hips. “I gotta go commando ‘cause you felt the need to use my underwear as a wash rag.”

 

Joey just smirks at him, going to his dresser and pulling out a pair of clean boxers with a flourish, pulling them on with a wink.

 

Chris rolls his eyes and pats his pockets to make sure his wallet’s still there. His feels his wallet, safe and sound, and then pulls Prince Charming’s collar out of his front pocket. Joey looks up, startled, at the familiar jingle of her tag.

 

Chris winces at the look on Joey’s face. “Sorry.”

 

“No, it’s…” Joey clears his throat. “Can I see it?”

 

Chris walks over and hands the pink nylon to Joey, who rubs his thumb across it before stuffing it in the open drawer in front of him.

 

Licking his lips and swallowing, Chris takes a breath. “I’ve uh, I’ve been thinking about getting a cat.”

 

“A cat?” Joey looks at him, surprised.

 

Chris nods.

 

Joey looks down at his drawer, a slow smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “Cats are cool, I guess.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Chris smiles and looks down at his feet.

 

“You uh, you want a clean shirt?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Joey holds up two t-shirts, a brown one with the outline of a slice of bacon on the front, and a blue one with a hedgehog looking at itself in the mirror.

 

Chris take the blue one.

 

They finish getting dressed and grab their phones off the bedside table, Chris not bothering to turn his on, before heading downstairs.

 

Darren is waiting on the couch, and he springs up when he sees them on the stairs. “Hi, guys. Hey.” He runs his hand over his hair. “…Hi.”

 

“Chill,” Joey says, and Darren squints at him briefly before nodding. He looks at Chris and repeats his squint.

 

Chris stares back. “What?”

 

“Nothin.” He turns away slowly, shoulders stiff, but keeps his eyes conspicuously trained on Chris.

 

“Darren, what is it?”

 

Freezing, Darren’s eyes flicker briefly towards the kitchen, where Joey disappeared, and then land back on Chris. Darren nods at his chest. “That’s his favorite shirt, you know.”

 

Chris looks down, then back up at Darren. “I just… picked the blue one.”

 

The tension in Darren’s frame melts away and he shrugs, dismissive. “I got Thai,” he says, looking up slyly. “Since you guys were so vehemently opposed to Chinese. I hope you like spicy chicken.”

 

Sitting down gingerly on the edge of the couch, Chris eyes the containers spread out along the coffee table hungrily. His stomach growls. “I love spicy chicken, thank you.”

 

Joey chooses that moment to walk back in, carrying three diet cokes. He rounds the edge of the couch and sets them all in front of Chris.

 

Biting his lip, Chris grabs Joey by the arm and tugs him close before he can straighten up. Joey comes willingly, a smile on his face. “Thanks,” Chris says happily, grinning against Joey’s mouth.

 

“You guys are disgusting,” Darren proclaims, shoving a spring roll in his mouth and chewing obnoxiously.

 

“What do you want?” Joey asks Darren as he stands up straight. One of his hands brushes absently across Chris’s shoulder, fingers fiddling with the collar of the hedgehog shirt.

 

“A barf bag?”

 

“To _drink_.”

 

*

 

“Oh my god,” Joey moans, slumping back against the cushions and rubbing a hand across his belly.

 

Chris turns and drapes his legs over Joey’s lap, sighing and staring at the last morsel of crispy spicy chicken on the coffee table as his head thumps down against the armrest. “I bet I could do it.”

 

“No you’ll explode.”

 

“But it’s so good.”

 

“I don’t want you to explode.”

 

“Aw,” Chris says, feeling warm and full and very pleased that Joey doesn’t want him to explode.

 

“It would be kind of cool to see someone explode, though.” Joey claps a hand down on Chris’s ankle, squeezing it. “Where’s Darren? We could make him eat it.”

 

Stretching over with a grunt, Chris swipes the last of his cokes from the coffee table. There’s a small amount sloshing around in the bottom. “He disappeared upstairs after he won the noodle toss.”

 

Joey huffs, sliding further down the couch until his neck is bent at an odd angle. “I still maintain he cheated.”

“Nah. He’s just got a really big mouth.” Chris tips the can back, downing the last of it.

 

“I bet he’s used to people throwing shit at him, too.”

 

“It happens less often than you’d think,” Darren says, skipping down the stairs.

 

Chris eyes Darren, instantly wary at his perkiness.

 

Jumping the last four steps, Darren points at Joey as he sticks the landing. “Upstairs, man. I have just given birth to a destroyer.”

 

Groaning, Joey pulls Chris’s legs higher up his body, as if hiding behind them. Chris looks back and forth between Joey and Darren, confused, before it dawns on him. He snickers into his empty can.

 

“You can always forfeit,” Darren says, strolling over and nudging Chris’s feet out of the way before flopping down on Joey’s other side. “If you’re not feeling… _up_ to it.”

 

Joey heaves a heavy sigh and slides his hands up Chris’s legs, lifting them off his lap and setting them carefully next to him.

 

Chris rolls the can between his palms thoughtfully as Joey makes a production of getting up as slowly as possible, and then sits up, pushing Joey back down. Clanking the empty can onto the coffee table next to the other two, he leans over and kisses Joey, one hand splayed on his chest, keeping him pressed against the cushions.

 

He stands once he thinks he’s made his point, hitching his pants up and smiling at Joey’s dazed look. “I got this.”

 


End file.
